


try to not remember (rather than forget)

by hereforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coma, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character - Freeform, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 59,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforlou/pseuds/hereforlou
Summary: Harry hadn’t left, not really. He had been right there the entire time. And that’s what had made it worse, knowing that his body was within touching distance but his mind, everything that made HarryHarry,was lost somewhere Louis wasn’t able to reach.He hadn’t left, but that’s what it had felt like most of the time. Just as if one day Harry had up and left him.(Or, the one where Harry wakes up.)





	1. May / Sunday, Monday, Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on like ten minutes of a Grey’s Anatomy episode. Title is from Keren Ann’s _Not Going Anywhere._
> 
> A huge thank you to E ([polka_stripes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polka_stripes/pseuds/polka_stripes)) for being overall great and for her amazing advice, and to Chloe ([lovelarry10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelarry10/pseuds/lovelarry10)) for helping these guys sound a little more British. Wouldn’t have had the courage to post without their help. All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> **An extra warning:** most of the fic takes place in a hospital, there's talk of injuries, recovery from said injuries and of what long hospital stays can entail. 
> 
> For those worried about the Louis/OMC tag, it's a one-time thing, vague and nothing explicit, but the characters do talk about it quite a bit.
> 
> Here's a link to the [Tumblr](https://hereforlou.tumblr.com/post/169436032156/try-to-not-remember-rather-than-forget-complete) post :) Enjoy!
> 
> Now translated into [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6961208)!  
> Y en [Español](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816675/chapters/39473041)!

He couldn’t open his eyes.

It took him awhile to realize why everything was so dark, swimming in and out of consciousness as he was, body so heavy it felt like it was sinking into the mattress. It was dark, and he felt like he couldn’t move, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not open his eyes.

_It’s okay,_ he thought. _It’s okay, it’s okay._

He couldn’t move but he was breathing and he was in bed. It wasn’t his own bed, he could tell. He couldn't think what his bed actually felt like but he knew it was not like this. And he was on his back, alone, which was also wrong.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. His heart sped up, loud in his ears, blood rushing and chest tightening. There was a faint beeping coming from somewhere far away, getting faster and faster as he started to panic. And that made sense, he knew that, in a distant, foggy kind of way. It didn't help to ease his fear.

He tried to swallow, and choked. He tried to take a breath and couldn’t. It was dark, and he was alone, and he couldn’t breathe or talk or move.

The beeping got louder, faster, and there were more sounds coming from behind a wall of cotton. Muffled and distorted, a voice, someone touching him. He tried to talk again, and his throat closed around something hard.

“Let’s take this out,” he heard, and then felt as if someone had reached into him and was yanking out his insides. He choked again, stomach convulsing, opened his mouth and took a breath, air filling his lungs so fast it made his head swim and for a moment he thought the bed was tipping over.

There was something - someone - holding his head back against the pillows, and light blinding him so suddenly he couldn’t react, still couldn’t move a muscle.

“Mr. Tomlinson, are you with us?” someone asked, a different voice, and he wanted to answer, but all he managed to do was to drag his eyes open on his own. They felt as if they had been dipped in rubbing alcohol - they stung but were too dry to tear up.

His vision was blurry, everything was white, beeping lights and moving blobs that looked almost like people.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry opened his mouth, every muscle in his face protesting, and let out a pitiful little croak.

“Page Dr. Sheldon,” the voice said.

.

Louis woke up to the soft patter of raindrops against his bedroom window and the somewhat muffled ringing of his mobile. It had been raining non-stop for almost a week. He burrowed under the covers, unwilling to acknowledge the new day. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was dreading today, but couldn’t remember why.

The phone stopped, and started again a second later.

Louis frowned. He was about to sit up when a warm hand slipped around his waist and pulled him back against a solid chest and then it all came crashing back. The night before, his friends’ reassurances, the drinks he shot back for courage, Jordan’s kind face blurring in front of him as he got drunker and drunker. He remembered the drive home, barely, and inviting Jordan in, drinking tea and water until he could think straight. Until it wouldn’t be as if Jordan was taking advantage.

It had felt wrong from the start, but Louis had been starved for it, and if he closed his eyes he could at least try to pretend. It had been frantic and messy and Jordan’s voice was deep, almost close to familiar. Now, the weight of his hand was alien enough to make Louis’ skin crawl, just as the feel of him nuzzling behind his ear, or the way he curled around Louis, pinning his legs down. But Louis hadn’t been held like this, sleep warm and skin to skin, in years, and he was selfish.

He forced himself to burrow back into the warm body behind him, face turned into his pillow.

The ringing started up again, and Jordan groaned. Louis felt it all along his back.

“You need to get that?” Jordan asked, nipping at the back of Louis’ neck. Louis shuddered. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

“Yeah,” he croaked. With a sigh, he dislodged himself and slipped out of bed. There was pressure behind his eyes, a hangover waiting for the moment to pounce. “Might be about Jamie.”

“Right,” Jordan said. He sounded distracted, and the bed creaked as he probably stretched his long limbs in every direction. Louis did not turn around to check. There was a fantasy playing out in his head, and the sight of the wrong man in his bed would smash it to pieces.

He staggered to the armchair in the corner (found in a second-hand shop 8 years back, too big for their old flat but perfect for their dream house, kept at Anne’s until they could use it, rescued from her basement only a few weeks before the accident) and rummaged through his jacket pockets until he found his phone. It stopped vibrating and chiming as soon as Louis got his fingers around it, but it was back at it again by the time he could check the screen.

_No Caller ID_ , it read.

His heart gave a little twist, his hand suddenly damp.

“Are you going to answer?” Jordan asked, and Louis swallowed, making his dry throat click.

_No. No, no, no_.

“Lou?”

Trembling for no reason at all - because there was no logical reason, there wasn’t, only this _feeling_ \- he brought his phone up to his ear.

“‘lo?” His voice was rough with sleep and the horrible, sinking kind of panic he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Mr. Tomlinson?” A soft voice spoke from the other side.

“Yeah.”

“I’m calling from Saint Mary’s Hospital. It’s about your husband.”

No.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Is he-” He couldn’t even say it. “What’s wrong?”

“He was brought in yesterday morning after an orderly at, um, Sunny Bay Home accidentally jostled him and he was rolled out of bed. We think he hit his head, but it was nothing serious, we performed several tests and everything seems normal.”

“Oh.” Louis relaxed, knees nearly buckling with it. “He’s okay, then?”

“He’s more than okay, Mr. Tomlinson. He’s, well, he’s awake.”

It didn’t hit for several seconds. Louis stood there, naked in the middle of the room, phone held in a grip so tight his knuckles ached.

“Wh- what?”

“I know it’s a shock, sir, but we need you to come down and sign some transfer documents. You’ll want to see him, of course. He’s asking for you.”

“A-asking? He’s awake, he’s- He’s talking?”

“Yes, sir. Since around 3 this morning. We extubated him as soon as we were sure he was breathing fully on his own.”

“What?” He asked again, and it came out as a whimper. “Why was he-” Harry didn’t need tubes to breathe - that had become painfully clear the day Louis had finally, finally caved and allowed them pull the plug on him. “I don’t-”

“His physician will explain in detail once you’re here, Mr. Tomlinson. Do you want me to call anyone else? Are you able to make it today?”

“I- yes. Yes, I want- Of course. His mother, call his mother, please.”

Louis heard some rustling on the other end of the line, the clicking of a keyboard, the quiet hum of people talking, another phone ringing.

_Harry_ , he thought. _Harry_ , _Harry_.

“Ms. Twist? I have her information here, I’ll let her know the news. Congratulations, Mr. Tomlinson. Have a good day.”

There was a click and she was gone, and Louis was left standing on a ledge between euphoria and a complete breakdown.

“Louis?” Jordan asked, sounding close. Louis startled so badly his phone fell out of his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Oh God.” He was shaking, naked and dirty and _not alone_ in his and Harry’s bedroom. “Oh God.”

He burst out the door and staggered down the hall and into the bathroom just in time to stick his head in the toilet and vomit. He was heaving and sobbing on his knees when Jordan knocked on the door.

“Lou, what happened?”

“Please,” Louis choked out. “Please, leave.”

God, Harry. Harry was awake, talking, asking for him. And Louis had brought another man into their house. Had let someone else in their bed, had let him touch him, kiss him, begged him for it. Louis put a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Louis,” Jordan called. “Is it Jamie? I heard you say to call his mother. I thought...I didn’t know-”

Jamie. Anne had him. Anne who was about to get the same phone call Louis had gotten. Anne who would rush to the hospital without wasting a second to have a cry on the bathroom floor. Who would pack Jamie up and bring him along, not sparing a thought to the fact that Harry didn’t even know him.

“Fuck,” Louis mumbled, hoisting himself up on wobbly legs. He felt disgusting, sticky and blotchy, throat and knees sore. Without a glance behind him at the mirror, he turned on the shower.

“Lou?”

Louis stood closer to the door, and spoke through it.

“Jordan, please, I need you to go,” he said as firmly as he was able. He still couldn’t keep his voice from wavering. “Something’s come up, I-”

“I’ll drive you, you’re upset.” Louis closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the door, his heart still pounding.

“I’ll call a taxi,” he said through gritted teeth. “ I need you to leave.”

“Lou,” Jordan tried again and Louis resisted the impulse to hit the door with his clenched fists. He was wasting time.

“Jor, I’m sorry, but if I see you in my house when I get out of the shower I won’t- I don’t want you here anymore, okay? Something’s come up, you need to go.”

Jordan didn’t answer, but Louis didn’t hear him move away either.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears nearly choking him again. “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this, but-” He cut himself off. But what?

“Alright,” Jordan said after a moment, low enough that Louis could barely heard him over the sound of the shower running behind him. “Call me if you need me, I guess.”

Louis didn’t reply, just turned on his heel and stumbled into the tub. The shower was too hot, the water stung his belly and his chest and made the tears in his eyes start rolling down his cheeks. He scrubbed himself as fast as his shaking hands allowed, thinking of Harry and trying not to. Trying not to picture what state he would find him in. What kind of damage all that time asleep did to someone’s brain, their body. Would he be able to remember? Did he know how long had passed?

Would he sound the same? Would he be the same?

He dropped the shower gel with a thud and didn’t bother picking it up. He shut off the water and nearly brained himself getting out of the tub.

Less than ten minutes later, after leaving a frantic but hopefully coherent voice message in his mother’s inbox, with his hair dripping and his jumper on inside out, Louis stepped outside with his phone still pressed to his ear, only to see a car already waiting for him at the curb.

.

The Uber driver Jordan had got him seemed like the chatty type until Louis told him where they were going, and then he clammed right up, keeping his eyes on the road and his mouth shut.

Louis was grateful for it, but the silence was not a good distraction from the way his stomach was cramping with nerves, the way he was barely keeping himself from crying again or throwing up what little was left in him.

When the all too familiar building came into view, Louis’ vision actually swam, and he was afraid for a second that he was going to pass out before stepping foot inside.

“All good back there?” The driver - Alan? - asked. Louis met his eyes in the rearview mirror and managed a tight nod. “Is someone meeting you there? I can walk you in, you look…peaky, mate.”

Louis barked out a laugh. Peaky. He felt like there should be a wheelchair waiting for him when they arrived. Or a stretcher. He and Harry could share a room. He laughed again, a little more hysterical this time, if Alan’s worried glance at him was anything to go by.

“Just call someone if I don’t make it through the door, please.”

He made it through the doors somehow, under Alan’s watchful eye. Inside, it was quieter than Louis had anticipated. Than he remembered. Maybe it was a slow day. He almost started laughing again at the thought. He reached the front desk in a daze, focused on his breathing, on every step he took. The woman sitting in front of him looked slightly worried after he didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and sent a look to a nurse standing close by.

“Sir?” The nurse called, walking over. “Do you need to sit down?”

“N-no, no, I’m sorry, I’m fine,” he said, and then realized he had started crying again at some point. He hated this place. The smell alone was enough to turn his stomach even on a normal day. Today, they were all lucky there was a giant lump in his throat keeping everything down. “I got a call. About my husband.”

The woman behind the desk blinked at him, before she seemed to unfreeze and she stood so abruptly Louis took a step back.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” she said, smiling. She was younger than him, and a few inches taller. “You’re here.”

Louis was surprised she knew who he was until he realized his was a situation strange enough to have the staff on high alert. He wondered if people had placed bets on him showing up.

“Yes, of course,” Louis replied, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jumper. “Is he still- Is he okay?”

“For what I hear, he’s still fighting sleep, didn’t want to go down until he saw you.”

The words made Louis’ chest clench painfully. The idea of Harry drifting off to sleep again before Louis saw him, saw his eyes open, saw him moving and heard him speaking, was too dreadful to even consider.

“Your mother-in-law’s been here for a little while,” the woman went on, sitting back down and typing on her computer for a second before a printer behind her whirred to life. Her voice sounded familiar. Maybe she had been the one who called him. “Your little boy as well.”

Louis closed his eyes, dizzy again.

“Oh, but he’s not been to the room. He’s being looked after at the daycare, on the second floor.”

Relief flooded him and he braced himself against the counter. The nurse hovering near him put a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Do you need some water, sir?” He asked. “Have you eaten anything yet today?”

Louis couldn't even think about food, much less entertain the thought of eating anything. He took a breath, another, and looked up at the woman in front of him.

“Please, just tell me what room he’s in.”

.

Harry was in a room on the fourth floor, in a corridor that seemed almost deserted, save for a few nurses flitting from door to door, holding clipboards in their hands and pens between their fingers. Louis stood outside the door to room 412 for ten minutes. Ten minutes where Harry could fall back asleep, where his kid was alone in some nursery, being looked after by strangers, ten minutes where his heart hurt so much with the need to see his husband he couldn’t understand why his legs wouldn’t move at all. The nurse who had escorted him was keeping his distance, but Louis could feel him going restless at his side.

“Mr. Tomlinson, if you want to sit down-”

“Please, stop asking me to sit down,” Louis snapped and instantly felt like shit about it. He rubbed at his face, breathing hard through his nose. “I just need a second.”

If Louis let himself, he could still feel Jordan’s hands on him. The weight of him, Jordan’s thighs under his hands, Jordan’s mouth on his skin.

He needed a second to put all that to the back of his mind. He needed a second to prepare, because less than two hours ago, he had been sure he would never see Harry awake again. Much less talking. Asking for him.

“I could call your mother-in-law out here,” the nurse offered gently, “if it would make you feel better.”

Louis’ fingers trembled.

“Please.”

He moved out of sight when the nurse knocked on the door and stepped inside. He heard voices, too quiet to identify, and then Anne was walking out, red-faced, eyes brimming with tears.

“Oh, Louis,” she said, a whisper, and then she was holding him, and Louis was sobbing into her hair. “He’s fine, darling. He’s- I can’t understand how, but-”

“H-he, he’s really talking? His eyes are open?” Louis blubbered, and he realized he hadn’t really believed it until then. He needed to hear her say it.

Instead of answering right away, she pulled away and held his wet face between her hands. She looked so much like Harry that Louis had had trouble looking her in the eye ever since the accident. In that moment, he couldn’t look anywhere else.

“He’s awake,” Anne told him, voice cracking. “He’s talking, but only a little. And his eyes are open. Puffy, because he’s been crying, you know how they get.” Louis nodded, sniffing. “And he can’t move very much yet. But he is awake, sweetheart.”

Louis closed his eyes, let his head hang down.

“Does he know?”

Anne brushed her thumbs across his cheeks and made him look up again.

“He knows how long it’s been. I haven’t told him about Jamie.”

Something sharp embedded itself between Louis’ ribs, and he cried harder, the floor spinning beneath his feet. Anne shushed him and pulled him in again, her arms going around him and squeezing him tight. He clutched at the back of her blouse, soaking up her warmth and wishing for his own mum in his arms, her voice in his ear.

“We should go in, if you’re ready,” Anne said after a minute had gone by. “He was droopy already when I arrived, he’s really struggling to keep his eyes open.”

“I-is that normal?”

“They say it is. His doctor will explain everything later, after you’ve seen him. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis swallowed and stepped back. “Alright.”

Anne held both his hands in hers and looked at him for a moment before giving him a watery smile, grip tightening minutely.

“I’ll be right here.”

The light was low in Harry’s room. It was the first thing Louis noticed, because the weather outside made everything seem gloomier. What little sunlight there was had an eerie grey quality to it. It was a shared room, but the bed closer to the door was empty. There were machines beeping somewhere, and rain splattering against the only window. There was a curtain separating both beds, and just behind it Louis could see the end of one, the obvious shape of two long feet underneath a pink blanket.

They shifted as he watched, just slightly, and Louis’ knees nearly hit the floor.

His trainers squeaked on the tiles, and the feet under the covers shifted again. Louis crossed the room on unsteady legs, half-convinced he wouldn’t make it to the other side without falling on his face. He had to stop when he reached the curtain, and he clutched it in his hands, pressed his face to the fabric and breathed.

The last time he’d seen Harry had been three months ago. He’d visited Sunny Bay for thirty-five minutes before he’d convinced himself he had errands to run and left, not having spoken a word out loud the whole time he’d sat at Harry’s bedside. He hadn’t brought fresh flowers or a new pair of socks. He hadn’t offered to shave his face or even held his hand. He’d mostly looked out the window, at the foggy river bank just beyond the small hill lining the yard outside, trying to find the courage to look into his husband’s still face and make the decision to stop. Just stop.

Now, with his eyes trained on the shape of Harry’s feet, Louis stepped beyond the curtain.

It felt as if he was doing it in slow motion, moving up from the shape of Harry’s bony feet, to his shins, his knees, his thighs. His bare hands were over the blanket, pale and thin, wrists and fingers knobby. His arms looked wiry, too long. His chest was rising and falling steadily, maybe a little fast. Louis’ eyes moved up his neck, his chin, his parted lips, dry and chapped.

And then, as Louis watched, numb all over, they moved, pressed together and rounded and-

“Lou?”

Louis jumped, and his eyes flew to Harry’s. They were open, red-rimmed and puffy, shining with tears and _open_. Everything blurred before Louis, his throat closing up.

“Harry,” he whimpered, tripping his way around the bed and finally falling to his knees. The hospital bed was too tall, and Louis sneaked his hands between wires to get to Harry, fingers bumping against his shoulder and holding on. “Harry, Harry.”

He looked up, and found Harry staring down at him, eyes swollen into slits, one side of his mouth pulled up.

“Missed you,” he croaked. His voice was sandpaper rough, too quiet, and Louis loved the sound of it so much a new wave of tears rose up in him. “Don’t go.”

“No, I wouldn’t- Won’t. Harry-” Louis blinked and saw Harry’s face tipping forward, going lax, eyelids falling shut. The beeping remained steady, and his chest kept rising and falling. Louis pressed his face to the mattress and stayed there, clutching at Harry’s shoulder, until the same nurse from earlier came in and made him lay down on the other bed.

.

Harry tried hard to stay awake but everything felt so heavy around him, the blankets, the doctors’ hands on him, the very air. He fought against the drowsiness for what felt like days, and then his mum showed up and it was like a small electric shock perking him up - as much as his body could perk up at the moment.

She cried, and he cried, because he was scared and he still didn’t know what was going on, what had happened. Then she told him what doctors had been avoiding saying all day, and Harry cried some more. Too much, until it was hard to breathe and his heart hurt.

After that, it was a struggle to stay awake, but he fought it harder, because now he was afraid of too much time passing again without him knowing. The doctors told him to sleep, that it was okay, but his mum had said that Louis was on his way and Harry didn’t want to miss it. Miss him. Didn’t want to sleep and never wake up again.

For a while, everything went a bit foggy, and it was hard to follow what people were saying around him. Then his mum left, and Louis was there. His hair was short, and his beard was full, and his eyes were blue and tired and sad and he was beautiful.

After all that, Harry couldn't stay awake no matter how hard he tried, and he let himself drift away, speaking even though it made his insides burn, Louis’ hands on him.

.

Louis woke up disoriented. He sat up and blinked at the opposite wall until everything came flooding back. He let himself fall back down against the pillows, hands over his eyes. He was drained. He wasn’t sure how long they’d let him sleep for, but however long had not been enough.

Beyond the curtain to his right, Harry’s machines kept beeping. And beneath that, beneath the sound of the rain still going outside, and the nurses shuffling along the hall, Harry was snoring.

The sound made Louis tear up again and, suddenly, he couldn’t stand to have anything between them.

He stumbled getting off the bed, forgetting how much higher hospital beds were, and yanked the curtain aside with a rattle. Harry was in the same position Louis had last seen him, chin tucked to his chest, arms at his sides over the blankets. It was darker outside, gentle rain having morphed into an outright storm, but the overhead lights were brighter than earlier. Knowing Harry was asleep, Louis felt safe to stare. He studied his pale, drawn face, his sharp cheekbones, the clumsy way his hair had been cut. He looked weak, ill, exactly like the sight Louis had been avoiding for months and months. Nothing like the Harry that used to flush so prettily when he laughed until he ran out of noise.

But.

But his eyelashes were still long and pointed like stars resting on his cheeks. His lips, though pale and dry, were still full, shaped just the way Louis remembered tracing with his tongue. His face was slack with sleep, but there was still the hint of a dimple at the corner of his mouth - Louis liked to believe Harry had smiled so much before the accident, the shape of it wouldn’t leave his face, no matter how long he slept for.

“Mr. Tomlinson?” Someone called and Louis startled, looking over his shoulder. The nurse from earlier was standing by the door, his hands behind his back. “Would you like me to page Dr. Sheldon for you? She’ll answer any questions you have.”

“Is Anne still here?” He asked, voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

“Your mother-in-law told me to let you know she’s taken your little boy home for the rest of the day,” the nurse said, and Louis glanced at Harry’s sleeping face at the mention of Jamie. He let out a sigh when there was no sign that he had heard, and his chest clenched painfully with the worry that Harry would never wake up again, never get to hear about Jamie from him. “She said she’ll try to come back later, and that you should check your phone.” There was a pause. “Have you eaten anything today, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis huffed out a humourless laugh.

“You’re obsessed with my eating habits, mate. I’m fine and I don’t need to sit down, either.” He turned around, using the rail of Harry’s bed for support. “Now let’s meet this doctor.”

The nurse, who Louis found out was named Liam and who had the patience of a saint, let Louis sit on the extra bed while he called the doctor over to Harry’s room. Louis pulled his knees up and rested his cheek on them. Liam had left the curtain open, Harry in full view for Louis to catch even the smallest twitch of an eyebrow, any sign that he might wake up soon.

The feeling of déjà vu made his empty stomach churn - he had spent years staring and waiting. He curled his toes into the mattress, clutched his phone in his hand and kept his eyes on Harry.

When Dr. Sheldon arrived, she was pushing a little cart with a plastic tray on it, and Louis barely managed to open his mouth to protest when his stomach growled, loud enough to make the doctor chuckle. Christ, she was young. Louis was sure she hadn't even been a doctor back when Harry was brought in the first time.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” she said in greeting, planting the little cart at the edge of his bed with the kind of finality that told Louis he better eat something from it, or else. “I’m Dr. Sheldon. I was on call when your husband regained consciousness.”

“I’m not-” Louis began, and had to clear his throat before he could go on. “I’m not even sure why he was here in the first place. He’s been at Sunny Bay for, for a long time now.”

She checked the thick chart in her hands, flipping a few pages for show, Louis was sure.

“Well, it seems he took a tumble,” she said after a second, averting her eyes, as if she was embarrassed on behalf of whoever had managed to drop Harry. “An orderly accidentally rolled him out of bed, and he was transferred here to check for injuries.”

For a wild second, Lous almost laughed. Leave it to Harry to fall on his face even while being unconscious. But then his amusement turned to anger, the idea of someone careless enough to-

“He was fine, Mr. Tomlinson. He does have a bump, I’m not sure if you’ve seen, but every test we ran came out perfect.”

“Why was he intubated? On the phone, they said he was intubated again.”

“A paramedic intubated him on their way over, I believe he was not aware of the DNR order for your husband. We extubated him as soon as he began stirring. He was drowsy, but otherwise alert. He spoke for a bit, asked for some water, although we’ll have to monitor his fluid intake for some time.”

“What did he say?” Louis asked, voice quieter. Dr. Sheldon nudged the cart closer and he relented and took a little tub of jelly and the plastic spoon attached to it. It was only then that he realized his hands were shaking.

“He asked for you, he asked what happened. He couldn’t remember the accident, and we’re not sure how much time he’s lost. He got quite upset when he couldn’t move.”

Louis nearly choked on the spoonful of jelly he had just shoved in his mouth.  

“He c-can’t move?” He asked, coughing. “No, I saw his feet move.”

“I’m sorry, I misspoke,” Dr. Sheldon put her hands up, face apologetic. Louis wanted to throw his jelly tub at her. “He’s able to move, we saw no sign of damage to his-” She paused and collected herself. “I’m sorry, what I meant is that he’s been inactive for an awfully long time, Mr. Tomlinson. Even with the measures taken to avoid it, muscle atrophy should be expected. It’s going to take some effort, but so far there’s no reason to believe he won’t make a full recovery.”

It sounded too good to be true. Louis had read horror stories about people who had woken up from two week comas and hadn’t been able to speak again, or walk, or remember. Harry had been out for far longer than two weeks.

“It’s uncommon, but there _are_ records of people in your husband’s situation who have led perfectly normal, fulfilling lives after a few months worth of physical therapy and regular checkups. It will take time and plenty of work, but you’d be amazed to see what a strong support system can help achieve.”

Louis knew perfectly well how valuable a strong support system was. There had been times, after the accident, when he wouldn’t have been able to make it out of bed without his mother there to hold his hand. Sometimes not even then.   

Louis’ eyes burned. He had had actual dreams about hearing the words Dr. Sheldon was saying, about Harry waking up and everything else just clicking back into place, every aspect of his life that had changed over time reshaping itself to accommodate Harry again, who was never supposed to be gone anyway. He still couldn't believe he was awake, not dreaming anymore, that this day was actually real.

Just when he had almost given up hope, when he had begun to move on-

Louis clenched his jaw, refusing to let his thoughts wander to the night before, to the state of his room, his bed.

Dr. Sheldon was still speaking, her high, serious voice floating around the room but not a word making sense to him anymore. Blinking, Louis turned back towards Harry, eyes tracing the outline of his ear, a sharp cheekbone, pale neck and bony shoulder. His chest kept rising and falling, his fingers making tiny movements on the sheets. They used to do that, when Harry used to sleep in their bed. Not since the accident. Harry hadn’t so much as twitched since the accident.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Dr. Sheldon said, sounding wary. When Louis looked at her, she blurred in front of him. “Do you need a moment?”

Louis let out a wet laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes.

“Not used to emotional loved ones yet?”

She fidgeted with her chart, clearly uncomfortable.

“He’ll have to stay in observation for a couple of days, of course, maybe a fortnight,” she continued, as if she had never stopped speaking. “We can arrange to have him moved to a private room, and he’ll be able to see more than one person at a time soon, I’m sure he’d like to see your little boy as well.”

Louis flinched, reaching out to place the jelly back on its tray. He couldn’t stomach it after all.

“Please, don’t mention him yet.” At Dr. Sheldon’s confused frown, Louis swallowed and explained, “Jamie was born two weeks after the accident. They um, they haven't properly met yet.”

Jamie had been born one floor up from where Harry had been hooked up to all his machines, bruises still darkening his skin, stitches still fresh. At one day old, Jamie had been formally introduced to his unconscious father by a sleep-deprived, half manic Louis, who got choked up two words in, no one to watch him weep but the infant swaddled in his arms. Louis still remembered the absolute certainty he had felt that Harry would open his eyes at the sound of their son’s cries. Or the feel of his tiny - so tiny - hand on his cheek.

He still remembered how devastated he had been when Harry didn’t wake, not for him and not for Jamie. Weeks of stress and worry had suddenly unraveled with the realization that Harry would not be there when he brought Jamie home. Wouldn’t be there to soothe him to sleep, to feed him, to take turns changing him. Maybe Harry wouldn’t even be there to hear their baby laugh for the first time, or watch him take his first step. Maybe he wouldn’t be there at all, ever again, and Jaime would grow up with only Louis as a parent, incomplete and forever turning his head looking for someone next to him who wasn’t there anymore.

Not trusting his legs to take him back upstairs, Louis had sat on the bench across the room until Anne had found them both crying, Louis quietly into his own shoulder and Jamie in outraged little wails, small fists waving in the air.

Now, Dr. Sheldon avoided another awkward moment by pretending to check her chart, as if she hadn’t probably memorized the whole thing before Louis had gotten there.

“Your husband will only hear about your boy from you, Mr. Tomlinson. Is there anything else I can do for you? Do you have any questions, any worries you would like to discuss?”

Suddenly accosted by memories, Louis shook his head. He only wanted Harry awake again.

“How long should he sleep for? Before I start to panic.”

“There’s no need to worry. Your husband’s showing high brain activity and he’s responding to stimulus. He’s only resting, he has to get used to his body again. He will be weak for a long time. You will need to prepare for that.”

Louis didn’t care if he was forced to carry Harry on his back everywhere for the rest of their lives.

“Please, let the nurses know if you need anything. I’ll make a request for a room change. And please, Mr. Tomlinson, eat.” She pushed the cart closer. “You’ll feel better.”

With that, she left.

Louis took a shuddery breath and curled into a ball on the bed, face pressed against his knees and arms around his shins. Next to him, his phone vibrated, like it had been doing ever since he woke up from his nap. Anne had probably called everyone they knew, and he had probably been getting texts and calls from family and friends in a endless stream that was draining his battery fast. He didn’t want to turn his phone off, in case Jamie wanted to ring him. Knowing Anne, though, she had distracted the little boy with a snack and a film, and was sitting at the kitchen table, her own phone clutched in her hands.

Louis reached out and picked up his mobile. He ignored all his other notifications and tapped on Anne’s name on his screen without lifting his head from his knees, and wedged the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Louis,” Anne said a second later, voice strained, as if she was trying to remain calm. “How are you, darling?”

“Jamie?” He asked.

“Watching a film with Robin in the other room. Honey, are you alright? You were passed out when I left.”

“Yeah, just...more tired than I thought.”

“Did you get a chance to see him? Did you talk?”

Louis tightened his grip around his legs, pressed his face against the phone and told Anne about seeing Harry, about his eyes being open, about his mouth moving to say his name. He told her about Dr. Sheldon, and how she was sure Harry would be able to go home soon. He started crying as he told her about how they were moving him to a room where he would be able to see more people, and told her how he didn’t want anyone there, he wanted to be the only one Harry talked to or looked at.

“We’ll give you space, of course we will,” Anne said, her own voice wobbly, and Louis squeezed his eyes shut.

“I didn’t mean you,” he choked out. Of course he hadn’t meant her. Anne had watched Harry wilt away just like Louis had. She’d been there for him since the moment Louis had first called her, sitting in a waiting room, no idea what was happening, no idea if Harry was even _alive_. She’d been there for Louis even when she was hurting just as much. And then she, along with Louis’ own mum, who had commuted from Doncaster as often as she could, had been there for him and Jamie when he arrived.

“He’s yours as well,” he said. “You have to be here.”

Anne let out a small laugh and they were quiet for a moment, the beeping and buzzing from Harry’s side of the room the only sound.

“Have you heard from your mum, darling?” she asked.

“Not yet, but I haven’t been checking my phone, really. She’s probably at work still.”

Anne hummed.

“Should I bring Jamie after Harry’s settled in the new room?” She asked gently and Louis froze.

“I- I don’t know,” he said with a whimper, turning slightly so that he was facing the door instead of Harry. “What should I tell him? Them. I don’t know what to do.”

“He needs to know, darling. And Jamie already knows him, he only needs to introduce himself.”

“But what if-” What if Harry was gone again, after Jamie got to know him? Dr. Sheldon was sure Harry would be fine, but every doctor they had spoken to before had told them not to expect Harry to wake up again. No one knew anything for certain.

“He needs to know,” Anne repeated gently. “He would want to meet his son. He was so excited to meet him, before. Do you remember?”

God, Louis remembered every time he stepped foot in Jamie’s room and saw the pale green walls Harry had spent a weekend painting, or the crooked little bookcase he had built with Robin to stack all of Jamie’s little baby books and toys. Harry had been excited to meet his kid since before he had even been conceived, when he had been an idea, a plan to look forward to. He had named him the first time they had discussed the possibility.

“ _James_?” Louis had asked, not seeing the appeal. He knew too many James-es already.

“Little baby Jamie Tomlinson,” Harry had cooed, eyes bright. “And it works for a girl, too. Baby girl Jamie Tomlinson. Cute.”

Louis had not been sold, and he hadn’t realized he was holding onto the name until he’d had a baby in his arms and people were asking him to fill in forms and documents and all he could think of was _little baby Jamie Tomlinson_ , _cute_.

“I remember,” he whispered. “But later. I have to tell him first. He has to be able to stay awake. And I need to talk to Jamie, he’s gonna be so confused, fuck.”

“Louis,” Anne scolded, a smile in her voice. “He won’t be more confused than he’s been about everything up until now. Did I tell you he asked me if his dad was like Sleeping Beauty?”

Louis rubbed his face against his jeans, careful not to dislodge his phone. Louis had gotten the same question, although it hadn’t been quite as sweet as Anne made it out to be. Jamie had woken him up early one morning, in tears because _if_ his dad was like Sleeping Beauty then he would sleep for a hundred years and Jamie would be too old to play with him when he woke up. Louis had told him that Harry would not sleep for that long, and when Jamie had asked how long he would sleep for, Louis had floundered. How could he answer that, when he still wondered the same thing every day himself?

That had been months ago, back when Jamie still asked to visit Harry, asked about how he’d been as a kid like himself, asked to see pictures and to hear stories.

But sometime during the last six months, the questions had stopped. One day Louis had looked up and realized Jamie hadn’t mentioned Harry in weeks, and it had taken him that long to notice. Later, when Louis had brought up going to visit for Jamie’s birthday, Jamie had told him he wanted a normal birthday. He said that none of his friends had to spend the day in boring old rooms with boring old people sleeping everywhere, having to sit still and talk quietly.

“You’ll still get a party, bug,” Louis had tried but Jamie had shook his head, stubborn as ever.

“It’s boring. And he doesn’t even care that it’s my birthday.”

That had nearly broken Louis’ heart.

Louis had made birthday visits a norm. Every year on his, Harry’s and Jamie’s birthdays, they packed up and drove over to Sunny Bay, where Harry lay on a bed while Louis talked shit, and later, when he learned how, Jamie chattered about his day, sitting on the bed by Harry’s legs. But Jamie was right - Harry didn't care. Couldn’t care. He didn’t even know Jamie existed, let alone what day he had been born.

Starting to let go had been painful, but everyone in his life had encouraged it, had helped him through it. He knew Anne still visited, but slowly, Louis had stopped setting aside time for it. Started making plans that would keep them busy for entire weekends. He had started responding to Jordan’s tentative flirting at work.

Chest tight, Louis said what he knew Anne had told Jamie when he’d asked his Sleeping Beauty question, “He’s beautiful enough.”

“He is,” Anne said. “And Jamie should be allowed to see it.”

“Yeah,” Louis muttered, sniffing.

“Should I put him on the phone?”

“Is he asking for me?”

“Not really,” Anne laughed. “I reckon he thinks we haven’t realized he wasn’t supposed to stay this long and he’s afraid to say anything that’ll clue us in.”

Louis smiled - his kid was going to rule the world one day. He was bright enough to get away with practically anything, and on the few times Louis had caught him with his hand in the literal cookie tin, he had a smile cute enough to charm himself out of trouble without fail.

“Did he ask you? About the hospital?” Outside the room, there seemed to be more activity that when he first arrived. There was a clock above the door, and Louis frowned at it. It read almost six, which couldn’t be, because it had been close to nine in the morning when he’d gotten there.

“I told him I was visiting someone,” Anne said, “I didn’t tell him who.”

Louis nodded to the empty room and uncurled himself, letting his back hit the pillows and stretching his legs.

“Give him a kiss for me,” he said, and turned to peer at Harry, still sleeping, chin still tucked to his chest. “I’ll ring back in a little bit.”

Louis dropped his phone on the bed and dragged the little food cart closer. He forced himself to eat a bit of everything on it, drank from the small plastic bottle of water, and then got up to use the restroom and have one more cry behind closed doors.

.

He couldn’t open his eyes.

He could hear the beeping, and he could feel the fuzzy fabric of a blanket under his palms. He knew he was not lying all the way down, that he was propped up on pillows, and he had a needle stuck to his hand, and wires taped everywhere, one in his nose and down his throat. He knew all that, and he remembered where he was, and why, but he could not open his eyes.

He had seen Louis. He had heard him, he had felt his hands on him. He could not feel him anymore, and he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. He had no idea how much time had passed. Had no idea if he had been asleep for ten minutes, ten hours or ten years.

The beeping around him sped up as he felt his throat closing, every muscle in his body tensing. He needed to open his eyes, he needed-

“What’s happening?” A panicked voice rang out over the beeping. “Harry? What the hell is going on!”

“Please step aside, Mr. Tomlinson,” another, quieter voice said.

“What’s happening?” Louis asked again, sharp, and Harry felt himself relaxing. He was still there. Louis was still there, he hadn’t left, he was there, it was okay.

Why was it so hard to open his eyes?

“Mr. Tomlinson,” the person who wasn’t Louis called. “Harry. It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re in the hospital, we met a few hours ago. Your husband is here, he’s holding your left hand, can you feel it?”

Harry tried to focus, still struggling to open his eyes, and slowly became aware of the pressure around his hand, the familiar feel of Louis’ thumb tracing a line over his wrist, back and forth. The beeping slowed and his fingers twitched with the need to turn his hand and hold Louis back. If only he could make himself do it.

“There we go,” the nurse said. _Liam_. Harry remembered him. “Now, can you try opening your eyes for us?”

Harry was trying, had been trying. His face crumpled, and he wanted to cover it but he still couldn’t find the strength to move.

Something brushed against his temple, and then Louis’ voice spoke right in his ear, lips against his skin.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he said, soft and gentle, and Harry instantly went limp, his muscles unlocking even if he was still unable to move. “You can do it, babe. Take your time.”

He took a breath through his nose, focused on Louis’ hand holding his, and dragged his eyes open by sheer force of will. He was met by a blurry face he didn’t instantly recognize, a brown-eyed man who smiled and shone a light in his eyes. Harry barely managed to grunt in protest.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Tomlinson?” Liam the nurse asked as he put his little torch away.

“Just call him Harry, mate, it’ll be less confusing,” Louis muttered, and Harry made the monstrous effort of turning his head towards his voice. He didn’t hurt, exactly, but every movement still left him breathless. It took a ridiculous amount of energy to move his head the few centimeters he needed to meet Louis’ eyes.

But then he was looking at Louis, and everything, the noisy machines, the fear, the questions he was burning to ask, it all melted away, and there was just Louis and the feeling that everything couldn’t be as terrible as it seemed - not if Louis was still there, holding his hand.

“There you are,” Louis said, wet eyes crinkling at the corners. He was puffy-eyed and his hair was standing up on one side and he looked so sad it made Harry start crying again. “Hey, no, come on.”

“Lou,” Harry rasped out, throat raw, lower lip trembling. “I-”

“H, you’re making me cry again.” Louis used his fingers to wipe Harry’s face dry, leaning in close. “We’re gonna make Liam here uncomfortable.”

Harry smiled weakly, sniffling.

“Not possible,” Liam said, scribbling something on the clipboard at the foot of his bed. “I’ve seen everything, promise.”

“Really,” Louis replied, eyes never leaving Harry. “Seen people waking up from five-year-long comas as if from a very long nap?”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, unintentionally jerking the hand Louis was holding. The sudden movement made Louis’ eyes turn concerned, the teasing smile on his face vanishing.

“You knew that, didn’t you, Haz? Your mum told you about it?”

Slowly, Harry nodded. His mum had told him, but it didn’t make hearing it again any easier. Five years. He had lost five years. He had slept, wasted away, _missed_ five years of his life. Just trying to imagine everything he’d have to catch up on made him feel queasy.

He focused on Louis, on his familiar face, dear and etched with worry and exhaustion. He ignored Liam’s prodding fingers, pinching his toes and poking his legs, feeling around his arms. He breathed, in and out, in and out, and unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“What happened?” He asked. His voice sounded foreign, too deep, wrecked. Almost as if he hadn’t used it in five years. Ha. He saw Louis frown and send a look over his shoulder at Liam.

“Didn’t they talk to you about it?”

They had. The doctors and then again his mum. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like something that happened to real people. He wanted to hear it from Louis.

.

“You were in an accident, love. A car hit you.”

Harry shook his head, the movement feeble but deliberate, as if he was slowly remembering how to make his body listen. Louis stared, unblinking and amazed, still coming to terms with the fact that everything about this day was actually happening.

“You don’t need to know everything just now,” he tried. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk about it and not have another breakdown.

“Tell me,” Harry rasped. “Please.”

Louis had prayed to hear that voice again for so long, he was helpless to deny anything it asked of him. He still sent another look Liam’s way, but the nurse was busy checking the bags attached to Harry’s IV and scribbling numbers onto his clipboard. If Liam could pretend he wasn’t listening, Louis could pretend he wasn’t there.

“Alright,” he said quietly and crowded closer, taking Harry’s hand in both of his and helping him curl his fingers around Louis’. With a sigh, he pressed Harry’s knuckles to his forehead and spoke down at the bed, closing his eyes. God knew he had gone over this story enough times to feel like he had been there. “You got out of work, it was raining, of course. We had just spoken on the phone, you were going to catch a taxi and meet me at the hospital.” He couldn't suppress a scoff at that bit - they had met at the hospital alright. “You got a muffin from the cafe down the road. Apparently you hailed a cab there, but you let someone else take it. This lady and her kids. They were just taking off when some...arsehole ran a red light.”

The prick who had been too busy arguing with his wife to look at the road had ran a light and veered left to avoid hitting the people on the zebra crossing. He’d glanced off the side of the taxi Harry had almost gotten into and sent it skidding towards the curb hard enough to crash into Harry and fling him against the building he had just exited.

“You got quite, um, banged up,” Louis said, instead of saying that Harry had been a mess when they’d brought him in. Cuts everywhere, a few broken bones, his insides damaged enough they had already taken him in for surgery when Louis arrived, less than thirty minutes later.

When Louis had finally been allowed to see him, he’d barely been able to stand the sight.

“I don’t remember…any of that,” Harry mumbled, hoarse.

“What’s the last thing you can remember?”

“W-why were we meeting at the hospital?”

“H,” Louis sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep everything to himself for long, but willing to delay it for as long as possible. Because no matter how much he wished he could wait until Harry was better, he’d remember eventually - him remembering was a _good_ thing, Louis reminded himself - and Louis would be forced to talk. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

He peered up at Harry from behind their clasped hands and saw the way his brow furrowed, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. He wasn’t sure if Harry could tell Louis was purposefully avoiding answering or just trying really hard to think. Either way, the grumpy expression on his face made Louis’ chest swell with affection, and he kissed down the bumpy line of his knuckles, eyes watering again. That was probably not going to stop any time soon.

“My birthday? I think,” Harry mumbled. “Going to your mum’s for the weekend?”

“That trip was a few weeks after your birthday.” Louis was aware of Liam eavesdropping and making notes. “Remember Lottie coming over to stay for a couple of days, going with her to look at flats?”

Harry nodded, eyes a bit brighter.

“That was in March,” Louis explained gently.

“When did- When-”

“March 14th,” Louis said. “The week after Lottie went back to Doncaster.”

“And what’s today?”

Louis had to think about it for a second. All he knew was that it was Sunday, and he wasn’t even completely sure about that, since he still had no idea how long he’d slept for.

“May 23rd,” he finally offered. “Missed the anniversary for a little over two months.”

Harry didn’t even pretend to be amused. His eyes had gone glassy and far away, as if he was trying to do the math in his head.

“S-so, how old am I?” He was scared. Louis could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He looked at Liam for help, he didn’t even know if talking about this was a good idea. Liam nodded, his big puppy eyes full of sympathy.

“Twenty-nine as of last February, love.”

Harry started crying again, his chin scrunching up and his eyebrows pulling together. His entire body jerked as he sobbed, and Louis could do nothing except push in closer, press his face to Harry’s temple and attempt to shush him while Liam quietly shuffled out of the room.

.

Harry’s new room was on the eighth floor, and the view alone was enough to distract them both while Liam and two other nurses set Harry up. The weather outside was downright apocalyptic - the sky completely covered by a thick mass of dark clouds, rain pouring in sheets, wind making it hit the large window in wet, sporadic slaps that made Louis jump every time. He kept his back to the bed, where everyone was busy rearranging Harry’s tubes and wires, and sent Anne a text asking her to please stay inside until the rain let off. His mum had yet to call back, so Louis guessed that she was in the middle of a long shift. His sisters had bombarded his phone with messages and Louis was surprised they hadn’t called their mum directly at work to tell her the news. He had to restrain from doing it himself, hating the idea of making her speed home or to the train station.

She would listen to his message eventually.

“If you need anything you only need to push this button right here,” Liam was saying. “There’s a nurses station three doors down the hall.”

“You’ll be there?” Harry asked softly, his voice even more wrecked than earlier. The sound of it still made goose pimples break out on Louis’ skin.

“I don’t work on this floor, but I’m going to try and move some things around if you’d be more comfortable with me close by.”

“Do I get special treatment?” Louis smiled down at his shoes just imagining Harry’s cheeky grin.

“Consider yourself our VIP patient for the rest of your stay,” Liam replied. “Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Lou,” Harry called when Louis didn’t acknowledge him. “He means you this time.”

“M’sorry, I was...somewhere else.” Louis turned, meeting Harry’s intent gaze. He was sitting up, and his cheeks were flushed with the effort. “Should he be straining like that?”

“As long as he knows when to rest, he can try and move as much as he can,” Liam explained. “If you’d prefer to talk with Dr. Sheldon about it-”

“He trusts you more than the doctor,” Harry butted in with a grunt as he fell back against his millions of pillows. “His mum is a nurse, you know.” He shrugged, grimacing. “Last I heard, at least.”

Harry was trying to make a joke, pretend like he hadn’t spent practically the whole day since the moment he first woke up in fucking tears. Louis watched him tip his head back against the pillows, long neck stretched in a pale line.

“Does she know I’m awake?” he asked.

Louis steeled himself, tried to rearrange his expression into something more relaxed, and stepped away from the window.

“Everyone in England probably knows you’re awake, if the amount of messages on my phone is anything to go by.” Harry smiled a little, following Louis with his eyes as he crossed the room. “Half of America as well, probably, what with Gemma there and all.”

“Gemma’s in America?”

Louis nodded, “For the last two years. Got promoted and relocated in less than eight months. Your mum still brags about it.”

“She’s writing?”

“Yup.” Louis sat on the chair at Harry bedside and took his hand again. This time, Harry squeezed back at once.

“And you’re writing?”

“Yeah, I’m writing.”

“I’ll leave you to it, for now,” Liam spoke up. He was smiling at them from the door.

“Make sure you manage to move floors for Mr. VIP here, yeah?” Louis teased, smiling when he caught Harry doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Will do, Mr. Tomlinson,” Liam said, and turned on his heel to leave.

“How come you’re Harry but I’m still Mr. Tomlinson?” Louis asked, eyes back on Harry.

“Maybe he likes me better,” Harry said. He rolled his head until he was more or less facing Louis. “Can you stay tonight?”

Louis blinked at the sudden subject change, and he turned towards the door in search of a clock. There wasn’t one in this room, but Louis could guess it had to be close to eight already. Moving Harry had not been a quick process, between Louis having to negotiate for the change, gathering enough people to unhook Harry from all his machines, or to transfer the ones he needed, waiting for Dr. Sheldon to come and authorize the whole thing. It hadn’t helped that every little pull of a wire made Harry gasp and ask about it. He spent way too much time talking catheters with Liam.

“Of course I’ll stay,” Louis said, even though he wasn’t sure if he was actually allowed to spend the night. They would need more than a few people to move him, though. There was no way he was leaving Harry alone now. “I just need to make a call, and then I’ll go fight some hospital staff for a cot or something.”

“You won’t need to fight, Lou. VIP, remember?” Harry’s dimple was just as deep as Louis remembered.

“Alright then, I’ll call someone over and you can act sweet and poorly and get them to put a second bed in here. Maybe one of those tiny fridges too, like in hotels.”

“M’not sure I’m that powerful,” Harry mused, looking thoughtful. “But I bet I can get you something other than nasty hospital food.”

“Hey, at least that food doesn’t look digested already.” Louis nodded towards the bag attached to Harry’s feeding tube. Louis was used to the sight, had spent countless meals sitting next to Harry as the bag slowly emptied. But Harry paled a little looking at it, and he ran a careful finger along the tube taped to his cheek and disappearing into his nose.

“I keep forgetting it’s there.” His hand moved from the tube to his mouth, his chin. He traced the light stubble growing there, the edge of his jaw, and moved upwards to card his fingers through his hair. His eyes widened slightly when he came in contact with the short strands - whoever had cut it had absolutely botched it. “Where’d my hair go?”

Louis spluttered a laugh before he could stop himself. Harry just looked so bewildered, even after everything he had found out in the last day, and all because of his hair.

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry whined when Louis kept laughing, patting his own head dejectedly. He seemed to run out of energy before Louis could compose himself, because he let his arm drop down on the bed with a thud, a small pout on his face. “It’s not funny.”

“You haven’t seen it yet,” Louis snickered, reaching out to smooth down a few stray locks.

“Show me, then.”

“Huh?”

“Show me? With like, a mirror or something.” Harry pinned him down with a serious look, eyes glittering in the dim light of the room.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea just yet,” Louis said, as gently as he could.

“Why?” Harry smiled, although there was not a hint of humour in it. “Is my face broken?”

“No, your face is not broken.” Louis traced the bridge of Harry’s nose with the tip of his finger. “You’re only a bit thin. And your hair’s...I don’t even know what’s going on up there. I reckon maybe they let a drunk person cut it. Might explain why they dropped you, too.”

“Why can’t I see my face?”

Fuck, Louis had no idea what he was doing.

“You look different, love. You’re older.”

“Five years, not twenty,” Harry argued, scowling. Louis had to suppress a smile. No matter how scared he was of hoping, he couldn’t wait to bicker with Harry again, to hear him complain, couldn’t wait for him to be annoying, to watch him trip over nothing and then pretend Louis had left his shoes lying about again.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough excitement for one day? First day back and you’re already thrill seeking, honestly.”

“Tomorrow,” Harry said, not even a question. “Or I’ll make Liam show me.”

“How about I take a photo now and I let you see it in the morning, after you wake up?” Because he was going to wake up. He was. This was not a false alarm, this was not Harry saying goodbye or anything else ridiculous like that. Harry was going to sleep and wake up in the morning, and he would continue to do so for at least another six decades. At least.

“Fine,” Harry agreed, although he didn’t sound too happy about it. He looked on the brink of sleep. Louis lifted his phone up, ignoring all the message alerts glaring at him and swiping left to open the camera app. Harry appeared on the screen, illuminated by the lamp on his bedside, pale and thin, dark circles under his eyes.

Louis hadn’t taken a picture of Harry with his eyes open in five years.

“Fancy,” he heard Harry murmur.

“Wait ‘til you see the actual new ones,” Louis murmured back and took three pictures in a row. Harry was blinking in two of them.

The third one showed him just as Louis saw him: terribly small in his big hospital bed, tired, scared. Awake.

Louis lowered the phone and dropped it on the bedside table. He left his chair and sat on the bed next to Harry, pressed the back of his hand to Harry’s cheek and felt the skin shift as Harry smiled.

“Good picture?” He asked.

“You’ll see it tomorrow.”

“Are you going to ask for a bed?”

“Might use the sofa tonight, actually,” Louis admitted. The sofa looked big enough, and the idea of having to wait for a cot to turn up didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. If he weren’t so scared of accidentally ripping Harry’s catheter off in his sleep, he would curl up around his boy and let himself drift off holding him.

“You had to make a call,” Harry reminded him, his eyes starting to drop.

“Yeah,” Louis ran his thumb over the skin below Harry’s eye. “Just need to ring your mum and see what time she’s coming tomorrow.”

“Mmh,” Harry hummed. “Want to see everyone.”

“Alright, we’ll check with your new nurse boyfriend.”

Harry’s mouth twitched.

“Don’t let me leave again,” he mumbled, and a second later, he was asleep.

.

Louis did not sleep.

He was exhausted, his entire body felt heavy, his _heart_ felt heavy. He was so tired he should have passed out as soon as he let himself fall on the couch, but he was staring at the ceiling instead, Harry’s words echoing in his head.

_Don’t let me leave again._

Harry hadn’t left, not really. He had been right there the entire time. And that’s what had made it worse, knowing that his body was within touching distance but his mind, everything that made Harry _Harry_ , was lost somewhere Louis wasn’t able to reach.

He hadn’t left, but that’s what it had felt like most of the time. Just as if one day Harry had up and left him.

Louis had spent weeks and months wondering, wishing, regretting. What if he had told Harry he’d pick him up from work? What if Harry hadn’t needed to buy that bloody muffin and had gotten a taxi at a different corner? What if Louis had listened to his gut and told Hannah to stay home that day, that sometimes pregnant women as far along as she was got false alarms? Better wait an extra day, he should have said, instead of telling her he’d go with her to the hospital just in case.

Even half out of his mind with grief, Louis had known he would never have told Hannah no when she’d called him, worried and in pain. Harry would have killed him when he found out, he used to think, immediately followed by _at least he’d be here to yell at me._

Hannah had been fine, of course, and Louis still felt guilty about the raw, horrifying anger he had felt when she’d told him the pain she’d been feeling (the only reason Harry had gone to take a taxi instead of the train) had only been gas. _Harry would have loved this,_ Louis had thought, and then had to turn away from her tear stained face before she could see his expression. For a second, even less than that, Louis had hated her. Her and taxis and ladies with kids and fucking tossers who didn’t know how to drive and who were only being treated for a broken nose, when Harry had just been taken in for a second surgery.

One day, without warning, Harry had left.

_Don’t let me leave again,_ Harry said, as if Louis had the power to stop him. He hadn’t been able to do anything about it the first time, what could he possibly do to keep Harry here now?

Louis blinked up at the ceiling. This floor was quieter than the previous one, but there was still enough noise to distract him. He could hear the nurses talking amongst themselves, someone close by calling out, asking for another blanket. He had gotten used to it, but he was suddenly very aware of the strong, slightly nauseating hospital smell around him. It reminded him of hours spent sitting in plastic chairs, of drinking burnt coffee just to keep from collapsing in an exhausted heap, of the day he’d held Jamie for the first time, feeling like he was missing a limb without Harry there.

He shifted and turned on his side to look at Harry, sleeping on his back not two meters away. Maybe now the sharp chemical smell would remind him of this - of sleeping on a hard leather sofa the first night after Harry woke up. Looking at him sleep and knowing (being almost sure) that he would wake up again soon.

On the floor where he had left it, his mobile buzzed for the thousandth time that day. Louis considered it for a second before he reached out and picked it up.

He thumbed through his messages, a long list of congratulations, questions, missed call alerts. He still couldn’t face most of them, so he focused on the ones that needed his attention the most. Lottie and the rest of his sisters. Dan. Gemma. Niall. He sent them all the picture he had taken of Harry.

Gemma, being on a different timezone and probably still wide awake, was the first to reply. The rest followed, sending more questions, audio messages where Louis could hear how choked up his sisters were, the huge smile on Niall’s sleepy voice. Now even more awake than before, Louis slowly started putting together a schedule. Anne would be over first thing in the morning. Lottie could join her, since she was the only one of his siblings in the city. Niall could visit in the afternoon, after he got out of work. Gemma could facetime when Anne and Lottie were there. Followed by the rest of Louis’ family, if Harry was up for it. By then, there was no way his mum had not heard his message. She could call and reassure both him and Harry by repeating every encouraging thing Liam and Dr. Sheldon had told them.

Maybe later, if Louis could gather his courage, he would tell him about Jamie.

He’d talked to him on the phone before his bedtime. Jamie had chatted about his day and not once he’d asked why Louis wasn’t there or when they were going home. When Louis told him he could skip school the following day, he’d immediately wanted to know if he was staying at Granny Anne’s the whole day. Louis had never been more grateful for the way Anne and Robin spoiled his kid.

By the time the room had started to lighten, weak sunshine peeking through the clouds, Louis had slept in fits and starts for grand total of forty-five minutes.

He sat up with a groan and cracked his neck and the small of his back. Two nights in a row with little to no sleep would surely catch up with him soon, but he couldn’t lay still a second longer. He stood and stretched, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. He used the restroom - private this time, sterile and empty - and washed out his mouth with water from the tap. He would need to go shopping for Harry soon, buy him a toothbrush, toothpaste, and whatever else he might need. He’d need to dig up his clothes, the ones he hadn’t appropriated, from the very back of his wardrobe, find him something cozy other than the hospital gown they had changed him into. He’d have to call Sunny Bay and tell them it didn’t seem like Harry was going back.

He’d have to send a fruit basket to the clumsy orderly that had managed to bump Harry awake.

He would definitely have to go home, eventually. If Jamie was staying at Anne’s for a few days, he would need clothes too, some toys to help distract him, his pack for school. Louis hadn’t discussed it with Anne yet, but he was certain she would understand Louis couldn’t leave.

When he entered the room again, a nurse who wasn’t Liam was standing at the foot of Harry’s bed, clipboard and pen in hand. She smiled at Louis and kept on scribbling. Harry was still asleep, so Louis told the nurse he was going to get some breakfast and went in search of his shoes, kicked off somewhere near the couch.

The hospital cafeteria looked exactly as Louis remembered, still surprisingly crowded and noisy, people in scrubs and white robes mingling with everyone else, carrying trays, talking in groups. Louis saw Dr. Sheldon sitting at a table with other doctors and ducked his head. He wanted to grab some food and hurry back upstairs, before Harry woke up and found him gone.

He was patting his pockets for some notes to pay when his mobile went off, his mum’s smiling face appearing on the screen. Cursing under his breath, he handed the cashier the money and fumbled with his phone, hand shaking as he pressed accept.

“Louis?” His mum sounded teary, and in the background, Louis could hear his sisters speaking.

“Mum,” Louis said, suddenly at a loss for words. He’d wanted to hear her voice so badly, tell her so many things, but now he wasn’t sure where to start. “Mum, I-”

“Baby, I just heard the whole story from your sisters, I’ve been at work all weekend, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Louis told her, stuck in place in front of the till. “Mum-”

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to call you, I didn’t want to wake you. I imagine you haven’t slept at all, have you, sweetheart? Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Just about to,” Louis said with a small smile, finally taking his food and moving out of the way.

“I’ve seen his picture, I still can’t-” She trailed off. “Is he well? Can he remember? How’s Jamie? How are _you_?”

Louis laughed quietly as he found an empty table on the far side of the cafeteria and dumped his breakfast on it. He sat down and hunched in on himself, phone pressed to his ear.

“We’re all well,” he said. “Mum,” he whispered, shoulders rising, “Mum, I slept with someone.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then all background noise faded as his mum presumably moved to another room.

“Darling,” she said, hushed, “there’s no reason to feel guilty about that. There was no way to predict something like this. You had to keep on living, didn’t you?”

Louis covered his face with his hand. He felt exposed having this conversation in the middle of a crowd, even if no one was paying attention to him. He had decided to put all thoughts of Jordan out of his mind for the time being, and yet of course the first thing he blurted to his mum was what was eating at him the most. _Guilty_ couldn’t begin to describe what he was feeling.

“No one expected you to stay by yourself for the rest of your life, sweetheart. We had a feeling you might have started dating some time ago.”

Louis spluttered, so shocked he didn’t care about the way his voice pitched high enough for the people at the table next to him to glance over.

“I haven’t been _dating_!” He argued, the mere thought slightly horrifying. “That’s not what I meant. I just- I…. Mum, I slept with someone. Once. The same night Harry woke up.”

That was the worst part, the fact that Louis had most likely been in the middle of it right on the same instant Harry had first woken up. As if he’d been able to fucking sense it. And while Harry had always had terrible timing, Louis couldn’t bring himself to wish away anything that had happened in the last 24 hours. Not if doing something differently meant Harry may not have woken up at all.

“Louis,” his mum sighed and heat prickled behind Louis’ eyes. “You did nothing wrong. And if... _when_ you tell Harry about it, he’ll understand.”

Louis wasn’t sure he could handle the delivery of another big announcement besides Jamie’s existence. Already he shuddered to think of all of Harry’s possible reactions. Not to mention Louis didn’t think a hundred showers would make him feel clean any time soon.

“Mum, when can you-”

“Dan is driving me to the train station soon,” his mum said, before Louis could even finish asking. “Will you be at the hospital? Shall I meet you there? Is Harry allowed more visitors today?”

“I, yes, of course, please.”

“I love you, darling. This is a wonderful thing that’s happened, yeah? Don’t let anything take that away from you.”

Louis smiled down at his rapidly cooling breakfast.

“I’ll try not to,” he said. “Thank you, Mum.”

“Have you spoken to Jamie about it?”

Louis’ smile wavered, his hopeful mood fading.

“Not yet. I- I haven’t spoken to either of them.”

“Oh, Louis,” his mum sighed again, and Louis felt his cheeks flush, chastised. “Harry hasn’t asked you about it?”

“I don’t think he quite remembers yet.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and Louis knew his mum wanted to ask all sorts of questions about Harry’s health and progress and would probably ask Louis to read out of the clipboard on his bed eventually, but for now, she kept herself in check.

“How is he now? Can he talk for a bit?”

“He was still sleeping when I left the room. I’m getting breakfast.”

“Good. Eat plenty, sleep when you can. I’ll be there this afternoon.”

“I’ll ask someone to fetch you from the station. Text me when you’re close?” Louis was already mapping it in his head. He could ask Niall, they could drive in together. Although Niall was coming from the complete opposite direction, so maybe Lottie or Anne could make the short trip after their own visit.

“Love,” his mum said softly, and after avoiding doing it for their entire conversation, Louis could hear her starting to cry. “I’m so happy for you. We all are. And we’ll be here for you for everything you need.”

Louis had to hide his face again. “Love you, Mum.”

.

When he made it back to the room, Harry was still snoring away, face slack. Louis sat back on his sofa and ate rubbery pancakes dipped in honey and drank his lukewarm tea, braving his messages again and sending some more replies. He created a groupchat with all of Harry’s uni and work friends and told them he’d keep them updated that way, and then exchanged some texts with Anne about what to do with Jamie, since Robin would be at work when she came over.

_Hospital nursery again?_ She asked and Louis chewed on his lip for a moment before replying, _Sounds good._

By ten, thirty minutes before Anne was due to arrive, Louis was starting to grow concerned. The new nurse told him that Harry wasn’t showing any changes, that it was normal for people coming out of comas to sleep more hours than average. Louis wanted to shake her. None of this was normal. People didn’t _normally_ wake up from comas after five years. For all she knew, Harry had slipped back into one while Louis was downstairs getting food. Maybe he’d woken, seen that Louis was gone, and had left again, just as he’d asked Louis not to let him do.

The nurse promised she’d page Dr. Sheldon and scurried away, probably seeing Louis’ growing panic written in his face.

He sat on the chair close to Harry’s bed, rested his elbows on the mattress and considered pinching Harry’s nose closed. He used to do that when Harry’s snoring got too annoying, at the very beginning, before he got used to it. It never helped to stop him from snorting and huffing in Louis’s ear, but it did make him splutter and wake up disoriented and grumpy, slapping Louis’ hands away.

The memory made Louis smile to himself, and he reached out and closed a hand around Harry’s forearm, close to his wrist, where he could feel his pulse in his palm.

A muscle twitched at his touch, and then Harry’s eyes were blinking open, just like that.

“How long?” Was the first thing Harry asked, voice rough with disuse, eyes still not fully focused.

“Just through the night, Haz,” Louis told him, trying to sound reassuring and not like he had been panicking not a minute before. His death grip on Harry’s arm probably said everything he wasn’t.

“Okay, good,” Harry sighed. He shifted, brow furrowing. “Help me sit up?”

Louis had just finished stacking enough pillows to hold Harry upright when Dr. Sheldon walked in, followed by Anne and Lottie, both holding flowers in their hands.

“Oh,” Anne said, her voice trembling, “it might take a while for me to get used to this picture.”

Harry smiled, big and goofy and still half asleep.

“Hi, mum. Hi, Lotts, you’ve grown so much,” his voice cracked at the end, but his tears stayed in his eyes, clinging to his eyelashes.

The same could not be said for Lottie, who was already blubbering, the huge flower vase in her hands shaking.

“You, too,” she sniffled. “I didn’t- We-” She seemed to pull herself together. “Everyone else send their love. If you think I’ve grown you should see the little ones.”

Harry’s smile, if possible, widened. The mention of little ones made Louis think of Jamie, and he sent Anne a questioning look. She was already waiting for it, and she gave him a short little nod. Everyone who would interact with Harry today knew not to bring Jamie up. Louis was only slightly worried about the younger twins slipping up, but he guessed they’d be too distracted by the novelty of Harry, someone they could hardly remember from when they were toddlers.

When Louis looked around, Dr. Sheldon was already gone.

Anne and Lottie sat around Harry’s bed, and Louis took their flowers and placed them on the bedside table, where Harry could reach them. As soon as Anne’s hands were free, she squished Harry’s cheeks and leaned forward to pepper his face with kisses. Harry’s half-hearted little whimpers and protests only fueled her, and a moment later, Lottie was there to coo and pull gently at his terrible hair, scratch her long nails down the back of Harry’s neck until he shuddered and giggled, ticklish as always.

When Gemma called a few minutes later, Harry, his mum and Louis’ sister all crowded around Anne’s phone.

Without any of them noticing, Louis slipped out of the room and set about finding the nursery.

.

Harry didn’t notice that Louis was gone until after Gemma had to disconnect. He was still reeling from seeing Lottie, how different she looked, all grown up, dressed in smart clothes because she was heading to work from the hospital. To work, in a studio downtown, with other grownups. Last time Harry had seen her she’d been starting out, thinking about moving to the city, sending out resumes and calling Louis in tears every time she felt like she’d botched an interview.

She had her own assistant now. Harry could barely wrap his head around it.

And then Gemma called, and she looked half asleep, hair up in a bun, her computer screen reflecting on her glasses, and Harry missed her so much, even though, to his recollection, they had seen each other the week before. He had started remembering some more. Random things at first, a trip to the shops, a silly argument with Louis. There was still plenty missing, he knew. There was something tugging at him, something he knew was important and he couldn’t recall what it was no matter how much he tried.

When Gemma saw him, she covered her face with her hands, eyes wet behind her glasses. Harry gave her a little wave and she snorted out a laugh. The last time he had seen his sister, her hair had been a different colour, and she had spent most of their lunch date complaining about her boss. Harry had complained to Louis about it later, and Louis had rolled his eyes at him: _you’ll miss her when she’s more successful than all of us and living across the world._

Well, Louis had been right. Too bad he hadn’t been able to predict how much Harry was actually going to miss.

By the time Gemma had to go, Lottie was lying in bed next to him, cuddled up close with her head resting lightly on his shoulder. His mum was taking pictures with Louis’ phone and pretending to be sneaky about it. Harry didn’t mind.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His mum asked, and Harry looked up from her phone and gave her a small smile.

“Yeah.” He looked around. “Where’s Louis?”

“I think he went for a walk,” his mum told him, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m so happy you’re back with us, love.”

She was starting to cry again, and if she started, it would set Harry off in a second. Luckily, his doctor chose that moment to come in, and everyone had to step outside while she checked all the bags and needles stuck to him.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” she asked when she was done writing on the clipboard she always seemed to be carrying. “Is it getting easier to move? Did you have any trouble waking up this morning?”

Harry answered all her questions, followed the light of her little torch when she asked him to, let her prod and pinch at his fingers and toes.

“We’ll run some more tests this afternoon,” she said when she was done. “They’re only routine, we’re going to make sure everything’s doing okay inside your body as it seems to be doing outside.”

“When will I be able to go home?” he asked, quietly hopeful it’d be soon. Not only for his sake, but for Louis’. Harry had no idea if he was missing work while he stayed with him, and he didn’t like that he had slept on the couch the night before, without a pillow or even a blanket. He was going to ask Liam for that cot as soon as he saw him.

“It’ll be a couple of weeks, I’m afraid,” the doctor said, and Harry’s shoulders dropped. “But you won’t feel so cooped up once you start your treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“Occupational therapy, eventually. Physical therapy. We have to get those muscles strong again. And you’ll be able to start ingesting your own food soon. Maybe in a few days we’ll have a nurse bring you a wheelchair so you can get out of this room. It won’t feel so cozy for long.”

Harry was sure she was right. The view outside his window, although miserable and rainy, only made him itch to be outside.

“Harry, I’m going to tell you what I told your husband,” the doctor went on and Harry focused back on her. “It’s not going to be simple. It is going to take quite a lot of work for you to feel like yourself again. But there’s no reason to believe you won’t be able to achieve it.”

“Yeah?” He asked, a little hopeful again. He wiggled his toes. The amount of effort it took was worrying, but he repeated the doctor’s words in his head. There was no reason to believe he wouldn’t be able to achieve it.

“We will go over a treatment plan in a couple of days, when you feel a little stronger.”

“Okay,” Harry said, relaxing back against the bed. “Thank you.”

When his mum and Lottie came back inside, they were already on the phone with the rest of their family. Dan was the first one Harry could see on the screen, with two small kids’ heads popping in from the bottom corners.

“Harry!” Dan cheered, a huge smile on his face. “It’s good to see ya, buddy! What a way to scare everyone.”

Harry laughed, eyes on the kids who could only be Louis’ younger siblings, no longer toddlers, staring at him in confusion.

“Hiii,” Harry waved at them. “Remember me?”

They shook their heads no, Doris leaning in close so that her big blue eyes took up most of the screen.

“Are you ill?” She asked, her voice high and sweet. She was still the bravest out of the two of them. Ernest only stared, his hair shorter and darker than when he was little. “What’s that in your nose?”

“I _am_ a little ill at the moment,” Harry told Doris as he tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “This gives me medicine.”  

Doris’ confused little scowl reminded him of Louis.

“Where’s Lou?” Ernest asked, voice so quiet Dan’s phone barely picked it up. “Daddy said Lou was there.”

When Harry scrabbled for an answer, Lottie sat back next to him and introduced them properly. Harry let them ask him questions until they got bored and went off to another room. Then the next set of twins leaned into view, and Harry couldn’t suppress a gasp. He was still coming to terms with the amount of time he had lost, and Louis’ sisters, who had been children just yesterday, were a very forceful reminder. The girls were serious and a little shy until Lottie got them to loosen up. They told Harry that they were starting uni soon, and Harry got choked up when he realized that he couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

“It’s okay,” one of them said. Daisy? “Lou can’t either.”

“It’s because he never visits anymore,” maybe-Phoebe chimed in.  

“I’m sure he means to,” Harry said, wondering again where Louis had disappeared off to. “Where’re the rest of the girls?” Fizzy was still missing, and Jay hadn’t even popped in to say hello yet. Maybe they were out.

“Jay’s on her way to see you, mate.” Dan’s voice could be heard somewhere behind the girls. “Couldn’t get on a train fast enough. And Fizzy’s travelling in France, actually,” he said. “She’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Have you got your phone back, yet? I’m sure she’s sending you pictures, now that you can...you know, look at them.”

He laughed a tad awkwardly, probably unsure how much he was allowed to joke about it. Harry quite liked the jokes. Everything already felt massive enough without people acting all somber around him.

“I’ll ask Lou to get it for me,” he said. “How many messages do you reckon I’ve got by now?” He directed the question at the twins, who smiled and played along, teasing him relentlessly until he was laughing so much it hurt, and he had to call the ailing and in recovery card to get them to stop.

His mum and Lottie left him to it, only occasionally offering a comment or a suggestion when the girls started listing films and series he had missed and should catch up on. It made Harry’s head spin, but he didn’t dare ask them to stop. He didn’t want them to feel they had to treat him like he was made out of glass.

Just when everything started feeling like too much - too many people speaking at once, too much light in his eyes, too many new celebrities that were apparently exactly Harry’s type - he looked up and Louis was there, leaning against the doorframe and smiling.

“Try not to scramble his brain too much,” he said, and Lottie startled next to Harry. “He couldn’t retain that much information even before the bump on the head.”

“Hey,” Harry drawled, grateful for the break. His neck was sore from holding his head up too long, and he gladly relaxed against his pillows. “You’re supposed to be nice to people in hospital, you know.”

“Been here too long, babe. Hospital’s ran out of nice.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at him without bothering to lift his head again.

“I was going to say I didn’t miss you guys flirting like idiots,” Lottie said, “but I actually did.”

Harry’s mum nodded, sniffling, and Harry wanted to roll his eyes at Louis, but he had a feeling it would hurt too much.

“Is that Louis?” Phoebe asked (on the left of the screen, purple blouse, hair up) and both twins crowded closer.

Louis walked over to the bed and leaned over the phone, his hands on Harry’s thighs. He gave his sisters an upside-down wave, and Harry dutifully turned the mobile his way.

“You know, being almost done with it is no excuse to miss school, young ladies.”

“Mum let us skip so that we could speak to our favourite brother,” one of the girls said. Now that Harry couldn’t see them, he was lost again. “He’s been sleeping for a long time, you see.”

Louis mock-gasped, a hand on his chest.

“I am offended on my and Ernie’s behalf.”

“Lou, we didn’t call _you_ , put Harry back on!”

“Harry’s time staring at a tiny screen is up,” Louis announced, flicking his eyes up to Harry to check with him. Grateful, Harry nodded.

“Sorry, girls,” he said, voice warm. “Your favourite brother needs his rest. I can give you to Lottie if you want to keep talking.”

“We should actually go,” Lottie said, carefully getting off the bed and back onto the floor. “We can come back tomorrow, or the day after, when you’re stronger, Harry.”

“M’kay,” Harry mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Hush,” his mum shushed him and placed a kiss on his temple. “Rest as much as possible, we want you out of here soon, alright?”

As comfy as his hospital bed was, Harry couldn’t wait to leave either.

.

Lunch was pasta with gravy and sausage for Louis and a tasty bag of gooey nutrients and antibiotics for Harry. Cafeteria food was still rubbery and bland, but it looked a hell of a lot better than Harry’s feeding bag, which Louis teased him about, hoping to lift his spirits. The morning visits seemed to have drained him, and Louis felt helpless when nothing he said appeared to be helping. Harry lay in his giant bed with all of his puffed up pillows and stared out the window, humming in reply to what Louis was saying every once in a while.

Anne and Lottie had left just when Liam had come in with Harry’s food, and Louis had used the excuse of getting his own lunch to go downstairs with them and say goodbye to Jamie.

“Where’re you going?” Jamie had asked when he’d realized Louis wasn’t going with them.

“I’ve got some stuff to do today, bug. You can stay with Granny again, yeah? Watch some more films?”

Jamie’s mouth had furrowed in a frown.

“Why can’t you come, too?”

Anne had stepped in, giving Louis a pointed look, her eyebrows up in a pair of disapproving arches,  before leaning down to speak to Jamie.

“Daddy’s busy today, darling. He’ll see you tomorrow after school.”

When Jamie still looked dubious, Louis added, “Granny Jay is coming to visit. Maybe you can go fetch her at the train station?”

He aimed the question up at Anne and Lottie, who nodded. Anne smiled at Jamie and asked in a stage whisper that made Jamie grin, “Shall we bake some scones for her today with Auntie Lottie?”

Jamie instantly beamed up at her. He gave Louis a tight hug and then took Anne and Lottie’s hands and all but dragged them towards the exit.

When Louis had gotten back to the room with his food, Harry had already withdrawn into himself, the tube going into his nose gurgling quietly.

“Are you feeling okay?” Louis asked now, setting his half-eaten meal aside. “I can call for Liam, I-”

“I’m fine, Lou,” Harry whispered, a small smile on his face. “Just tired.”

“Do you want me to tell Niall not to come?”

Slowly, Harry shook his head.

“What about a quick sleep before he gets here?”

“No, no, I- I don’t want to sleep through it.” He shifted, and Louis was on his feet in a second, hands out. “I just want to sit up, Lou.”

He sounded frustrated and tired, and Louis curled his hands into fists, forced his arms down. He didn’t want to be overbearing, no matter how hard it was not to be all over Harry.  

“Do you need my help?” He asked. Harry’s cheeks were pink when he looked at Louis through his lashes, biting his lip.

“Yes, please,” he said. “Sorry.”

Huffing out a laugh, Louis used a few extra pillows to prop up Harry’s back.

“You’re allowed to tell me to back off when I get on your nerves. I promise it’s going to happen a lot.”

“You don’t get on my nerves,” Harry argued. “Ever.”

Louis laughed again. He trailed his fingers through the short, uneven tufts of Harry’s hair. Harry leaned into the touch with a sigh.

“I guess you’re still having trouble remembering, then.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, distracted. He let Louis pet him for a moment before looking up again. “Lou?”

Louis’ stomach clenched in terrible anticipation. Had someone mentioned Jamie? Was that why Harry was so quiet? God, he should have said something earlier, Harry was supposed to hear it from _him_. Had he somehow found out about Jordan? He had probably been able to see it all over Louis. Was that why he was so quiet all of a sudden?

“Yeah?”

“You never showed me my photo.” Harry blinked up at him with his big, red-rimmed eyes. Louis exhaled, shoulders dropping. He ran his hand down Harry’s neck to his chest and his fingers bumped with the cluster of wires sticking out of his hospital gown. He felt Harry’s chest rise, the steady thump of his heart. Harry was warm and solid and here. When Louis told him everything he needed to tell him, he’d still be here. He wouldn’t vanish.

“Wanna see it now?”

Harry nodded. His fingers were shaking when he put his hand over Louis’ still on his chest.

“Are you sure my face isn’t broken?”

“Your face is perfect,” Louis told him, digging out his phone from his pocket. He had a message from Niall, and he typed in a quick reply before pulling up the picture. Harry stared up at him from the screen. The lighting was not the best, and Harry looked even more haggard and puffy-eyed than he did now, but Louis had promised. “Keep in mind that you need a shave and a proper haircut.”

Harry nodded and Louis turned the screen his way. He felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath underneath his palm, the tightening of Harry’s fingers around his.

“Haz-”

“That’s a terrible photo, Lou,” Harry said. “I look awful.”

“You do not-”

“Take another one? I wanna see what I look like now.”

“Love, you’re gorgeous, but you don’t look that much better now than you did last night.”

Harry pouted up at him, although it looked like he was trying not to smile.

“ _Lou_ ,” he whined. “Take another, the light’s better and _I_ feel a little better. Make me look pretty.”

Louis laughed, leaning down to bury his face in Harry’s hair.

“You feel better, huh?” He lifted his mobile and opened the camera app. With his head resting on Harry’s he switched to the front camera, and then Harry’s face filled the screen. Through it, Louis saw Harry’s eyes widen before dropping and flitting all around the screen, as if he was taking in every detail.

“Lou, I have a beard,” he said after a moment and Louis scoffed.

“I wouldn’t call that thing a beard.”

“ _I_ would,” he argued. “And my hair’s terrible, there’s a weird bug stuck in it.”

Louis stuck his tongue out at him, saw himself doing it on the screen.

“There’re less scars than I thought there’d be.”

“There’re some scars,” Louis said gently. “Other places.”

“I look strange,” Harry concluded after pulling a few faces, turning this way and that.

“You look perfect,” Louis said.

“I look,” Harry insisted, pushing Louis’ mobile away, “like a bad hangover feels.”

Louis stepped away and sat on the edge of the mattress, facing Harry instead of hovering over him and getting in between all the machinery around him.

“You’ll look better after you get some sun,” he said, throwing his phone on the nightstand. “And we can shave those whiskers and even your head, if you want to. Start fresh.”

Harry looked wounded at the mere idea, bringing a hand up to his chin.

“My beard,” he corrected, weakly affronted. Louis rolled his eyes, smiling wider than he had in a long time. This was the Harry he remembered. This was the Harry he had missed, the Harry that, by some strange twist of fate, he had gotten back.  

“We can shave your _beard_ ,” Louis complied. “And we can start getting you all moisturized and pretty again.”

“Thought I was perfect and beautiful.”

“You are.” Louis leaned in and kissed his cheek, right underneath his left eye. “But if you want to look _pretty_ on top of all that, I can at least offer my assistance.”

When he pulled back, Harry was staring at him, his brow furrowed. Louis’ smile dropped off his face.

“What?”

“You, you haven’t kissed me. Properly,” he said, and Louis’ belly swooped. “At all. Do you- Are you-”

“Harry-”

There was a knock on the door, and then Niall’s voice floated into the room, effectively slicing through the suddenly heavy atmosphere.

“Harry, you absolute wanker!” he called. “Took you long en- _fuck_ ,” his voice wavered and cracked, and Louis turned around to see him covering his mouth with the hand not holding a tangle of colourful balloons, eyes swimming in tears. “I’m sorry, Lou, I tried. _Fuck_ , Harry, look at you.”

“I know, Louis says I’m not pretty anymore,” Harry said, and Louis opened his mouth to protest, but Niall spoke right over him. “What does he know? You look fucking radiant.”

And even though Harry was still weak and bedridden and Niall’s voice was thick with tears, it was nice to see how fast some things could go back to normal.

.

Harry’s head was throbbing. It had started before his mum had left, maybe due to having spent over an hour staring at a bright screen, or maybe he just wasn’t ready to have so many people over. He didn’t want to say anything, though, because even if his skull felt like it was splitting in two, it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through him while listening to silly stories about things he had missed, having his mum kiss his cheeks, having Lottie snuggled up to him, or watching Niall try and pretend he wasn’t getting emotional about seeing Harry awake.

He didn’t want to say anything and have Louis worry again and start acting careful, barely touching him in case he might break or something. He wanted Louis all over him, all the time. Louis, of course, noticed something was off. He’d always been good at spotting when Harry was not feeling well, no matter how well Harry thought he was hiding it, so at least that hadn’t changed.

Other things had changed though. There was something he couldn't see but could feel weighing down on Louis every time he looked at him.

Harry knew he was being unfair, because Dr. Sheldon had told him to take it easy, but he hated to think that Louis was keeping things from him. Dr. Sheldon had warned Harry he should moderate the amount of information he was fed.

“Just think of your brain as if it were your stomach,” she’d told him while his mum and Lottie waited outside. “If you were to eat a hamburger right now, the most likely scenario would be that you’d bring it back up and probably injure yourself. Treat your head with the same care, start slow. Your family knows not to overwhelm you. Try not to push it.”

Harry understood, but the idea (absurd, impossible, just like everything else about his life at the moment) was already planted. It was there, the thought that Louis was sitting by his side while someone waited for him at home. Another man. And where was home? Had Louis kept their house, or had it felt too big without Harry there? Was he living someplace new with his new, what? Boyfriend? Spouse?

Thinking about it made Harry feel sick, and yet he knew that he’d never be able to hold it against him if Louis was seeing someone else. Five years was a long time. Too long to wait for someone you weren’t sure was even going to come back.

He _knew_ Louis. Even this older, careful Louis. He was keeping something from Harry, and the need to know hurt.

“Last time I saw you,” Niall was saying, “you were all splintered up. Said otherwise you’d shrivel up, the doctors did.”

Harry remembered asking them to take the splints off his hands the morning he’d first woken up. He’d been groggy and weepy and they’d felt weird pressing down on his wrists. It had felt like they were the reason he couldn’t move.

“Looks like it worked,” Harry said, wiggling his fingers as best he could. Louis was standing by the window, smiling at him with his arms crossed over his chest, and Harry ached to touch him. He looked tired, almost as pale as Harry now knew he himself looked. He wondered if it was due to the recent stress or this was what Louis looked like all the time now. He wanted to know everything. His head hurt.

“You’ll be up and tripping over your own feet in no time, bud. I can’t believe you’re already talking so much.” Harry didn’t think he was talking much, he felt downright gloomy, but after years of silence he was probably coming off as chatty. “Never thought I’d hear you again, if I’m honest.”

Niall was choking up again, which made Harry want to cry.

“Ni,” he said before they could both start, reaching out to take Niall’s hand. “Tell me stuff. About you now.”

Niall laughed, red-faced, and wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand. His hair was shockingly brown, instead of the platinum blonde Harry had last seen it.

“Geez, okay, what shall I tell you….”

“Anything,” Harry said, looking at Louis over Niall’s shoulder. “Stuff I missed.”

“Good to know you’re still partial to gossip,” Louis teased, his smile curling into a smirk. Harry wanted him closer.

“You haven’t given me any juicy info.” Harry tried to wink. He wasn’t sure he managed, going by the way both Louis and Niall laughed at him.

“Alright, gossip,” Niall mused, tapping his chin with a finger. “Beyoncé had twins. Did you know that?”

Harry giggled, shaking his head.

“I want gossip about people I know, though.”

“What, boring old us?”

“Yup.”

“Who’re you two calling boring, now?” Louis stepped closer and rested his hands on Niall’s shoulder, squeezing. By Niall’s expression, he wasn’t gentle about it. Harry smiled, mood lifting a bit. He remembered this, the easy way Niall and him always ganged up against Louis whenever the three of them were in the same room. It was nice to know that hadn’t changed.

“I’m not the old fart who needs to be forced to go out once every two months,” Niall said, rolling his eyes. Harry saw Louis’ hands tighten on Niall’s shoulders, and Niall’s eyes widening before he looked up, something quiet passing between them. Just like that, Harry’s tentative, happy mood withered.

“Ni,” he called again, tugging on Niall’s hand. “Are you still rooming with, um, that bloke?” Harry couldn’t remember his name.

“Marty?” Niall asked, looking amused. “He moved to Edinburgh a few years back. Got me a sick flat in Lambeth. Proper posh, you’ll see.”

Marty, right. Harry had liked him. His eyes travelled up to Louis.

“Lou? You got a posh flat as well?”

Louis’ smile was soft. “No, love,” he said. “We’re still at the house out in Greenwich.”

We. _We_. Harry swallowed.

“Remember the house?” Louis asked. “Remember the first night we stayed there?”

“Um, this feels private,” Niall snickered, and Louis smacked the back of his head.

Harry remembered staying at the house the night before the move, sleeping bags in the sitting room, a box of pizza shared between them. One too many plastic cups of wine. The memory was enough to bring up the tears he had managed to keep at bay. They’d been so happy, he remembered that. Making plans, arguing about paint chips for some reason. It had lasted only a couple of months. He remembered feeling hopeful, expectant for something he still couldn’t put his finger on. He still felt it, this tug in his chest, this unformed question burning to fall out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he croaked out and had to clear his throat to go on. “Yeah, I do.”

“I visit quite often,” Niall said. “Since Mr. Grumps here doesn’t like the outdoors so much.”

Harry frowned up at Louis.

“He’s just jealous I get to work from home whenever I want,” Louis told him.

“You’re not working together anymore?”

“We are,” Niall said, and seemed to hesitate. “Louis just gets special privileges.”

“I go to the office plenty,” Louis defended himself. “I’m not some hermit, Haz, I promise. No one tries to call the police when I do show my face, so that’s a good sign.”

Harry smiled.

“I also get to go out to games fairly often, and I’ve hardly used my plus one, so. Just in case you need an extra incentive to get better soon.”

Harry shook his head, unable to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. He had all he needed right in front of him, and he couldn’t even sit up to touch him without help. He didn’t need any extra incentive.

“Don’t ask Nialler here for extra tickets, though. Unless you want to be stuck watching people hit all kinds of balls with sticks for hours on end.”

“Golf?” Harry asked. “I like golf.”

“Golf, polo, cricket, you name it.” Niall listed, holding his fingers up.

“He’s the king of stick ball sports that only old people watch.”

“Enough young people read my articles,” Niall argued, flicking Louis’ chest. “I’ve got _fans_.”

“You’ve got stalkers.” Louis flicked the back of his neck. “He’s moved flats three times in the last two years. He keeps giving the location away on Twitter.”

“Not my fault these kids are Sherlock Holmes levels of nosy.”

“I wanna look,” Harry said, scratchy voice almost lost among the bickering. “At your Twitter,” he clarified when both Niall and Louis looked at him.

“Er, sure, mate, of course,” Niall babbled, clearly panicking about something. “I’ll just- Yeah, next time, for sure.”

The feeling, the horrible feeling that people were not telling him something intensified. Maybe Niall had pictures of Louis and his new life, Louis and the person he shared their house with. _Their_ house.

“Ni,” Harry said, again. “Are you, are you with someone?”

“Like, dating?” Niall asked, taken aback. He smiled. “Yeah, I am. Her name’s Nora.”

“Yeah?” Harry returned the smile, ignoring the little knives stabbing at his heart. “Are you happy?”

“Very. You’ll meet her soon. She knows all about you.”

“Okay,” Harry said softly, and then looked up at Louis again. By the look on his face, he knew what was coming. “Are you, Lou? With someone?”

Louis paled, right in front of Harry’s eyes. He saw the blood drain from his face and that was all the answer he needed. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, and his head started throbbing in earnest again.

“Oh,” he managed, vision going blurry.

“ _No_ ,” Louis said forcefully. “No, Harry, of course I’m not.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry, I’m not mad,” Harry tried, his voice trembling too much to sound as reassuring as he wanted it to. “I don’t mean to cry, really.”

One of the machines behind him started beeping, and Louis stepped around Niall and took Harry’s face in his hands, forced him to meet his eyes.

“Harry, I’m not. I could never- I never even took my ring off. Please, calm down.”

“I am,” Harry wheezed, fear spiking through him when he found it was hard to breathe. “‘M sorry.”

“Fuck.” He felt Louis fumbling around his blankets. “Niall, _get_ someone.”

It felt like the last time he had been unable to open his eyes. He couldn’t see properly and his chest was constricting painfully, breath stuttering out of him. Harry tried to focus on Louis’ hands on him, his lips against his forehead where he was begging him to calm down, but he was spiralling, and his head was _pounding_ , pressure building behind his eyes.

“Move aside, Mr. Tomlinson,” someone said. Liam. Liam the nurse, sounding calm and far away.

“He’s- he’s freaking out, it’s my fault,” Louis stammered as his hands slid away.

“Harry,” Liam said. “Harry, you’re alright. You’re panicking, please try to breathe.”

Harry was trying. Had been trying. But his throat was stiff, his lungs burning. All he could think about was _we_ , and Louis’ expression when Harry had asked, and the faceless man who had taken his place, _his_ place, when Harry felt all he had done was fall asleep one day and then woken up in another dimension.

Louis’ voice rose somewhere in the background, and then there was a sharp little tug on his arm, something so cold it burned spreading through his veins, and he was out.

.

Niall drove Louis out to the house an hour later, after Louis had made Liam promise he would not move from Harry’s side until he got back. Rationally, Louis knew Liam had work to do that probably didn’t involve sitting bedside to a sedated patient while so many more on the same floor may need him. Louis also knew Liam was not the only nurse working off the eighth floor station, and he better keep his promise unless he wanted someone else to have a breakdown on his watch.

Head against the passenger side window, Louis sighed, watching his breath fog up the glass. It was still early, much earlier than the time Louis had planned to make this trip. He had hoped the sun had gone down by the time they got to his house, so when he kept all the lights off, he wouldn’t be able to see what he’d left behind. Louis hadn’t planned on Harry conking out in the early afternoon, when the sun was at its strongest.

He’d already told his mum to go to Anne’s instead of the hospital. Pamper Jamie and enjoy the scones he had baked for her.

“You okay there, Lou?” Niall asked for the hundredth time since they had slipped into the car. No, Louis was not okay. He hadn’t eaten or slept properly in more than two days, hadn’t seen his son for more than a few minutes at a time since he had left him at Anne’s on _Friday,_ and he had just triggered a panic attack in his husband, all because he hadn’t answered a question fast enough.

A question that should have been laughable, ridiculous, how could Louis ever? Except of course Jordan had come to mind - and the single blur of a night they had spent together - and Louis had never been a good liar. Had never been able to keep anything from Harry.

“Tommo, I’m sorry, mate,” Niall said, sounding so contrite that Louis had to turn and look at him properly. His profile was set, the corner of his mouth pulled down. Louis could see the bright red stain of a blush on his cheek.

“What for?”

“You were thinking about Jordan before. Weren’t you?”

Louis stiffened, heart beating fast against his chest.

“Ni-”

“He told me he spent the night,” Niall spoke over him. “Wanted to know if I knew why you’d kicked him out. I got Anne’s message like, a second later.”

“I don’t really feel like talking about it,” Louis said as he let himself fall back against his seat.

“I encouraged it, the whole thing with Jordan, didn’t I? If I’d known-”

“No one could have fucking known, Niall,” Louis snapped. “And it’s not like you put a gun to my head or anything, it- It’d been five years.”

His conversation with his mother floated around in his head, her reassurances. No one had done anything wrong. He only needed to keep reminding himself that.

Niall nodded, eyes on the road.

“Yeah, you…. He’s nice. You like him, he likes you. I thought it’d be good.”

Had it been good? Louis had needed someone, anyone, and Jordan was nice, he was his age, they shared the same interests. None of that had crossed Louis’ mind during it. In his bed, pulling their clothes off and gasping at the novelty of someone else’s hands on him, Louis had closed his eyes and pretended. The touches had been firm and a little clumsy, and that had been fine, but Jordan’s voice had kept bringing him back to the present, the smell of the wrong shampoo on his hair and the unpracticed way he’d kept trying to gauge what Louis wanted, what he liked, all of it had made Louis want to cry, want to pull away.

“I was trying to help,” Niall finished, quietly, daring a glance his way. It killed Louis to see him so unsure, when he had always been a rock - a boulder - for him, and an amazing uncle for Jamie.

Louis waited until they hit a red light to lean over and hug him. Niall returned it, squeezing Louis’ body until Louis had to laugh and pretend to choke.

Pulling back, he asked, “How am I going to tell him about Jamie?”

Niall frowned, taken aback. “What?”

“How can I tell him about Jamie without- You saw him, he couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t even true, what he was thinking.”

“Lou, Jamie is a good thing,” Niall said. A car beeped at them and they ignored it. “He’s the best thing he could find out about.”

“I don’t think he even remembers about him.”

“I mean, he hasn’t met him yet.” Niall’s smile was small.

“He doesn’t remember about Hannah, or about setting up the nursery. He hasn’t asked about it.”

“Maybe he’s scared because you haven’t mentioned it,” Niall offered. An engine revved and a line of honking cars drove past them, some drivers yelling at them to move. Niall put the car in first and moved them to the side of the road. “Lou, he has no idea what’s going on. Can you even imagine, waking up and it’s been five years and everyone’s moved on without you? He’s still Harry from back then. He doesn’t have a kid, he’s just moved into his first house, he’s just starting to think about changing jobs. He can’t even stand yet, he wees through a _tube_.”

Louis let out a watery laugh, and he wondered when he’d get tired of crying. Already the skin around his eyes felt puffy and tender to the touch, as if he would start to bleed if he kept rubbing at it. Did tears actually ran out at some point?

“Jamie is good news,” Niall went on. “And Harry is good news for Jamie, yeah? You know, he asked me if Harry was like Sleeping Beauty once.”

“You and everyone he’s ever spoken to,” Louis scoffed, suddenly aching to hug his kid.

Niall was quiet for a moment, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

“Should I say something at work? I know they don’t expect you there until Thursday but-”

“I’ll email them later,” Louis said. “I’ll get my laptop from home, try to get a few words in at the hospital.”

“You should take some time off, Lou,” Niall argued, starting the car. They merged back into traffic and Louis settled back against the door.

“Maybe,” he said. “Summer’s coming up, school will be out.”

“Your mum’s staying, though, isn’t she?”

“I don’t think she’ll be able to stay long, not with the little ones back in Doncaster. And if- _when_ Harry comes home,” fuck, that felt good to say, “I’m not sure too many hands on deck is gonna be a good idea.”

Planning was good. Planning and making lists and organizing his days had been what kept him sane for a long time.

“When is that happening?”

Louis shrugged, rubbing his clammy hands on his thighs. He felt a mess. “Might be a while still,” he said. “They said a few weeks but I reckon a bit longer.”

“And you’re, what? Staying at the hospital until then?” Niall tried to sound like he was joking, but Louis could see the worried little glance he sent his way. Louis would. He would move into that hospital room and fight anyone who tried to get him to leave. He would, if it weren’t for Jamie.

Summer was coming up and with that the holidays and day camp and a million little plans Jamie and him had made. He knew, deep down, that keeping those plans was more important to him than to his kid, who had the short-term memory of a sea sponge. But he also knew that skipping out on those plans with Harry as the reason would not bode well for Jamie and Harry’s relationship.

Jamie may not had been able to retain information for long, but he could hold a grudge like the best of them, even if half the time he didn’t remember why.

“Don’t know what I’ll do,” he told Niall, staring out the window as they turned onto his street. “Don’t know anything, only-” He cut himself off.

“Only?” Niall prodded.

Louis shook his head. Gazing too far into the future felt dangerous. He had done that before, and then the floor had been swept from under his feet and it felt as if he had been falling all this time. Falling until the phone call, two days before.

“I don’t even know what I mean.”

They pulled into his driveway a few minutes later, and Louis had to stop Niall from getting out of the car.

“I’ll drive myself back, mate, really,” he said. “I have to stop by Anne’s and drop James’ stuff off, see me mum. Fuck, I have to go to the shops, it’ll be awhile.”

Niall hesitated, half turned towards his open door.

“Thanks for today, by the way.” Louis clutched Niall’s shoulder and squeezed. “Not sure if I’ve told you what a good friend you are yet.”

“Can never hurt to hear it again,” Niall said with a weak smile. “Lou, I can drive you. You’re knackered, I don’t want you driving into a pole.”

“I’ll have a nap, it’s early. And I’ll text you at each stop, Mummy, don’t worry.”

Niall pinched his cheek a little too hard. Louis smiled wider.

“Make sure you do.” He let Louis go with a pat. “And give a big smooch to your husband for me, send Jamie my love.”

“Will do,” Louis muttered, mind already somewhere else.

This was the list of things Louis needed to get done:

1) Shower and sleep for at least an hour.

2) Clean up the mess he knew he had left behind last time he’d been home.

3) Pack an overnight bag, his laptop and his mobile charger.

4) Pack Harry a bag with comfy clothes, toiletries and anything he could find that Harry might be comforted by.

5) Get Jamie’s school bag and an extra set of clothes. Maybe a game.

6) Try not to cry again.

7) Go shopping. He wasn’t sure what for but he knew he’d be able to think of something once he was at the shop.

8) Go to Anne’s with Jamie’s things and hug his mum.

9) Go back to the hospital.

10) Kiss his husband.

In his head, he underlined the last item three times, circled it, drew arrows pointing to it in neon yellow.

He couldn’t have Harry thinking he had lost Louis for a moment longer.

.

By the time supper rolled around and he was pulling over in the Saint Mary’s parking lot, Louis had managed to do everything in his list except item number 6, which he had given up on as soon as he’d walked into his and Harry’s bedroom and seen Jordan had left his socks behind. Probably on purpose, so he’d had an excuse to call Louis.

He’d binned them, along with the leftover containers they had left on the kitchen counter, the half empty bottle of wine Louis had opened when he’d started to feel a little too sober, the sole condom wrapper he found lost between his sheets, and the towel they had used to clean up afterwards.

Louis had been so relieved he hadn’t let his mother come into the house before him that he’d nearly started crying again on his walk to put the rubbish out.

Inside the hospital, laden with bags, one of the receptionists started to make a fuss about visiting hours being long over before Louis showed her his ID and told him Harry’s room number. She grumbled a bit, but handed him his visitor badge and let him through all the same. On the eighth floor, the hallways were quiet. The nurses at the station were reading in silence, and they nodded at Louis as he walked by. Liam wasn’t among them.

Instead, Louis found him sitting on the sofa in Harry’s room, looking out the window, the lights out. There was a cot open in the small space between the wall and Harry’s bed, along with more pillows and blankets.

Louis would have hugged the man, if he hadn’t been carrying so many things.

Liam stood when he spotted Louis in the doorway, and gave him a soft smile.

“He hasn’t moved since you left,” he said, stepping around the cot and approaching Louis, hands outstretched. It took Louis a second to realize he was asking for his bags.

“Thank you,” he said, handing one over. “And I know you think that’s reassuring, but it’s really not, mate.”

Liam looked at him, a confused scowl on his face before Louis gestured at Harry’s sleeping form, and then his face smoothed out in understanding.

“He’s fine, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said, placing Louis’ bag on the couch. “He’ll probably sleep until morning. He’s had supper already, but the cafeteria is still open for you if you’re hungry.”

The pointed look he gave Louis showed just how well Liam thought Louis could take care of himself. Which was not very well, apparently.

“I’ll go in a moment, can I finish setting my things down first?” He tried for good humoured and missed rather spectacularly, but Liam didn’t seem to take it personally. Always a good trait, that. “Will you be barging in during the night to check on us?”

He remembered nurses coming in and out of the room the night before to check on Harry and scribble on his chart.

“Actually,” Liam put his hands on his hips and stretched his neck, “my shift ended a little while ago, so I’m heading home. Have a day off tomorrow, too, so I’ll bother you two on Wednesday when I’m back.”

“Oh, Liam, mate, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kept you,” Louis dropped the bags not holding his laptop by the wall and stepped aside. “Go, for Christ’s sake, get some sleep, do whatever you do when you’re free.”

Liam laughed, eyes crinkling down to slits.

“It’s fine, I was happy to stay and keep my promise.”

“Thank you,” Louis told him. “Honestly, I don’t know you all that much but I’m glad you’re the one stuck with us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Liam said. “I’ll leave you to your...unpacking.”

“Hey, most of this stuff is for Harry. You’ll be glad he has trousers on when he can stand and won’t flash you in that nighty”

Liam laughed again. “Have a good night, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“You and your Mr. Tomlinson,” Louis grumbled as he made way for Liam to leave.

A moment later, there was only him, Harry, and his small collection of whirring machines.

Harry’s room had a rather big dresser, which was convenient, but a little sad if Louis thought about it. He quietly unpacked Harry’s clothes and put them in the drawers, t-shirts and joggers Louis had kept for himself all these years, socks and underwear that he was happy to share.

He put Harry’s new toothbrush by the bathroom sink, shampoo and toothpaste, a razor and shaving foam. On the floor by Harry’s bed, he put the pair of old-man slippers he had bought at the shop - he wasn’t sure what had happened with Harry’s old ones.

He dug out his mobile charger and plugged it in by the bedside table. On the table, he placed the book he knew Harry had been in the middle of reading before the accident - it had stayed on top of their dresser at home all these years.

Satisfied for the time being, he took his laptop bag and sat on the couch. He still had some battery left, and being on the long-term care ward meant a strong wifi signal, so Louis set about composing an email for the people at the office. Most of them had been there the first time Louis had to take time off, first on account of Harry’s accident, and then when Jamie was born and he was allowed an extended paternity leave. Most of them had sent him condolences and flowers the first few weeks, and then endless congratulations for Jamie. Some of them still asked about Harry occasionally - he had always been popular among Louis’ coworkers, the little charmer.

Louis wrote, trying to stick to the facts. He kept the tone light, joking about Harry only needing a good tumble to wake up, how if he’d have known he would have pushed him off his bed a long time ago. He wrote a summarized version of what Liam and Dr. Sheldon had told him about what to expect for the next weeks, and then promised to keep to his deadlines for as long as he could. After a moment, he added the possibility of taking time off once Jamie’s school let out.

Louis hadn’t really taken time off since those few months with newborn Jamie, and most things about that time were a blur. If it hadn’t been for his mum and Anne, he didn’t know what would have become of the two of them.

By the time he was finished, it was nearing midnight and his battery was almost dead. He addressed the email to his supervisors, Niall and the few people who had worked with him the longest. Before hitting send, he typed in one last name. Maybe it wasn’t fair of him to give Jordan his explanation this way, but Louis was too tired to consider any other option.

He shut off his laptop and got in the cot without bothering to change out of his clothes. The sheets were stiff and smelt of institutional laundry detergent, and outside, the nurses were quiet. Everyone else appeared to be sleeping.

It had stopped raining sometime between him sitting down to write and climbing into the sheets, so the only sound he could hear as he drifted off was Harry’s steady breathing on the bed beside him.

.

Harry was dreaming. He could tell because he was standing. He was standing, and he was in a room that looked abandoned, empty, the window open to let in the light.

The walls were bare and dirty, and there was a big paintbrush in his hand, dripping with paint the colour of the sky on a clear day. He was about to start painting but changed his mind, picked up a brush soaked in sand-coloured paint, and then another, pastel yellow.

He finally decided on a soft green, bright and cheerful, that felt perfect.

But when he tried to start painting, the paint slid down the wall like water on glass. He tried the other walls, absently aware that there were too many of them, five, eight, ten. All of them remained blank, and his paintbrush became heavier and heavier, until he had to let it slip from his fingers.

Frustrated, he turned to complain to Louis, but he wasn’t there. Somewhere outside this room with too many walls, there was a baby crying.

.

Harry startled out of a sleep that had felt deep and had left him slightly woozy, a bad taste in his mouth. It was early morning. In another room, a baby was babbling and people were talking.

_I had a dream about a baby_ , he thought.

Next to him, Louis was asleep on a small foldable bed that had not been there the day before. He lay facing Harry, shadows beneath his eyes.

Everything hurt. His neck was sore, his arms ached. There was a dull throb in his head, the beginnings of a headache that had yet to decide to make itself known. He wondered where Niall had gone off to, still a little disoriented, before he remembered.

Right.

He looked at Louis again, heart skipping a beat. He looked lovely sleeping, his face soft, blankets up to his ears. He wondered who else got to see it these days.

_And what about the baby?_

The question popped into his head without warning. He shifted, trying not to move his head too much. He had dreamed of a baby. Maybe later he would be able to meet the one he could hear in another room. Maybe he would get to meet all the people in his floor eventually. He needed to be able to stand soon. He needed to be able to sit without it hurting.

_There was a baby._

He hadn’t seen the baby in his dream. He couldn’t remember much, but he was sure of that, at least.

His stomach gave a little turn.

He wanted to meet the baby _now_. The feeling was so strong it made him uneasy. On the other bed, Louis hadn’t stirred yet. The room smelled like the flowers his mum and Lottie had brought him. Niall’s balloons were tied to the rail on his bed.

Outside, the voices sounded closer, and through the window next to the door, the window that faced the hallway, with its blinds half open, Harry saw two women walk past, a baby sitting in the arms of the one closer to him. The little girl started crying as soon as she was out of sight, and Harry suddenly felt sick.

He closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. He got distracted halfway through - he could still hear the baby fussing outside.

One of the last conversations he’d had before the accident had been about babies. He hadn’t remembered that a minute ago, but he did now. Babies and hospitals and nurseries. His throat clenched, knees knocking together as he squirmed. He needed to get off the bed. He needed to be able to move.

Nurseries. There had been a nursery in his dream.

There had been a nursery before the accident.

Had there been a baby as well?

Harry sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes tight. He slid his hands to his belly, feeling the clip attached to his index finger. He had been at work, bored, counting the minutes before it was time to leave. Go home, to his new home, where Lou would be waiting, where they could sit together and continue talking about everything they had to fix before-

Before?

He’d been at work and Louis had called.

“Now, don’t worry,” he’d opened with, and Harry had started to worry instantly. “It’s obviously nothing, but I’m going to meet Hannah at the doctor’s. She’s feeling a bit poorly.”

Harry, in his hospital bed, eyes stubbornly shut and gnawing on his lower lip to keep himself from making any noise, let out a trembling breath that was more sob than anything else.

He remembered Hannah.

He couldn’t believe he had ever forgotten her, or her kind, smiling eyes, her surprisingly deep voice, her cravings for pastries, her wonderful belly, round with their baby.

His and Louis’ baby.

“I’ll come with,” Harry had said, all those years ago, when Louis had called because Hannah was not feeling well. “Lou,” he said now, because he never got to find out if something had gone wrong. He never made it to the hospital, where Louis had told him to meet him. He’d gotten a muffin for Hannah, sure that it would make her feel better, and then everything had stopped.

“Lou,” he called again, louder, because what if Harry had not been the only person Louis had lost that day? “Louis!”

Louis’ head jerked up, his eyes blinked open a second later, lids heavy.

“What’s wrong?” He slurred, just as slow to wake up as Harry remembered from before.

“Lou,” Harry said, and his voice came out weaker than he wanted it to. His entire body felt strung tight, ready to snap. “Lou, are they alright?”

Louis rose onto his elbows, a frown on his face.

“Is who alright, love?”

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. Grey started to creep in on the edges of his vision. He tried again.

“Hannah. The baby.”

Just like the day before, he saw Louis’ blood leave his face, but before Harry could react, there was the tiniest dip of Louis’ chin. A nod.

Relief flooded through Harry in a rush that left him boneless and trembling.

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “I thought-”

“No,” Louis said, not all that steady himself. “Don’t even think that.”

Harry didn’t have time to open his mouth before someone was knocking on the door.

“Good morning, you two,” Dr. Sheldon said, an unusually cheery note in her voice. “How about some tests before breakfast?”

Harry met Louis’ eye, took in his frozen expression, the almost frightened way he was looking back at Harry, and then turned towards the door.

“Sure.”

.

It was the afternoon, and Louis still hadn’t been able to cross out item 10 on his list. That was the only thing he allowed himself to think. It was the afternoon, Harry had been gone from the room for hours, and Louis still hadn’t kissed him.

That, and it was almost time to pick Jamie up from preschool, and he had promised.

That, and Harry was cross. Hurt. Harry still thought Louis had replaced him. Harry had remembered their baby.

Louis was sure he was leaving track marks on the floor where he was pacing outside the room, from one end of the hallway to the other. From the emergency exit to the nurses station, where nurses he knew only in passing looked at him with worried eyes. He was sure they were moments away from asking him to stop, or kick him out of their floor.

He had spent the morning worrying and trying to distract himself with work. After Harry had been taken away, he had opened his emails only to find his inbox flooded, and there in the middle of congratulations and incredulous questions, a message from HR sending him a notification for mandatory leave, with pay. After skimming through every message, he couldn’t force himself to open one of his dozens of unfinished pieces, no matter how hard he tried. Sport news sites barely held his attention, and he found himself bouncing his leg nervously, laptop rattling on his knee.

That had been when the pacing started.

He knew Harry’s tests were not running long. He knew Harry had probably asked not to be brought back yet, because he was still Harry, and an angry Harry was a petty Harry, even if he had every right to be.

But Louis had to go soon, and he didn’t want to without seeing him.

He was on his tenth trek of the hallway, he could see one of the nurses starting to make her way to him with a reproving frown on her face, when the lift doors opened, and then Harry was being wheeled out.

Louis stood a few paces away, unseen as he watched Dr. Sheldon stop to speak to the nurses while two orderlies pushed Harry’s stretcher and monitors into his room. Harry’s eyes were closed the whole time. Louis quietly followed, staying by the door while they put Harry back in his bed.

“Your husband’s not here, Mr. Tomlinson,” one of the orderlies said softly, and Louis could barely stifle a laugh when he saw Harry pop one eye open. What a little shit.

“Where is he?” he asked, all huffy and indignant. Louis could hear the real distress behind his words, though, at the fact that Louis had left without telling him, or left at all.

“I’ll ask one of the nurses,” the orderly said, and Dr. Sheldon chose that moment to walk in behind Louis, making him startle.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Tomlinson?” she asked as she stepped around him to go into the room. Louis barely heard her. He was staring at Harry, watching the way his head snapped towards the door, the way his body sagged in relief, even as a scowl furrowed his brow.

The orderlies left, and Louis walked inside, staying by the dresser as Dr. Sheldon checked the levels on Harry’s IV bags. Once upon a time, Louis had asked Harry’s doctors about everything they did, every scribble on their charts, every med they added to Harry’s diet. By the time Harry had been moved to Sunny Bay, he had a pretty good idea of what they were looking for when they hovered over Harry’s bed. He could anticipate roll over and PT times by the amount of activity he could see outside of Harry’s IC room. He’d even had bedpan schedules memorized.

Now Harry had been gone for hours and Louis didn’t dare raise his voice to ask about his tests. He felt pinned in place by Harry’s eyes, clear and fixed on him.

“Everything looked good in the CT but we’ve scheduled an MRI for tomorrow morning, just to get a clearer view of how everything is doing,” Dr. Sheldon explained, sending Louis a sidelong glance as she continued to write on her chart. Louis wondered if she knew why Harry was upset. She’d known about Jamie, and she’d known Harry didn’t. Louis felt terribly small under both their gazes. “Blood work results will be ready tonight. Nothing’s come up yet, but we’ll keep the tests going for a few weeks just to make sure.”

She was speaking to Louis, Harry had probably already heard all about it.

“I heard there was an incident yesterday,” she said and Louis inhaled sharply through his nose. Harry didn’t even flinch. “I believe I don’t need to tell either of you that something like that cannot happen again. Mr. Tomlinson’s condition is still very delicate, and I would prefer if we didn’t have to administer any sedatives again until we are sure he’s more stable.”

“Of course,” Louis said, clearing his throat. “I, yes, yesterday was my fault, it won’t happen again.”

“Good.” She closed her chart and turned to Harry. “I’ll be close by if you need anything, just ask one of the nurses to page me, alright?”

Harry nodded, eyes on Louis, and Dr. Sheldon left.

Louis had planned what he wanted to say. He was going to clarify all misunderstandings. He was going to apologise for not being upfront from the start. He was going to walk over to Harry’s bed, sit next to him and ask for a kiss, because of course Louis wanted to kiss him. He wanted to. Didn’t he? Even if it would be different. Even if Harry would not be able to kiss back like he used to. Even if Louis had kissed someone else, when no one else was supposed to have been an option if Harry was still there.

Now Harry was staring at him, face set, and Louis couldn’t find his voice. He leaned back against the dresser and fiddled with the hem of his jumper like Jamie did when he was being scolded, ashamed and sorry and lost.

“It’s,” Harry began, voice cracking a little. “It’s a little like I don’t know you anymore.”

Louis’ heart squeezed, the words like a physical blow.

“What-”

“It’s like...for me, I woke up and I don’t know you. It’s a long time I was gone. And, and you, I wouldn’t have wanted you to wait for me. I’m, I would have wanted you to move on and be happy and leave me behind.” The words faltered, getting smaller, and Louis could not speak, mouth open uselessly as he watched Harry try to keep it together. “You don’t have to lie, or, or feel bad about it if you...if you’ve moved on. I understand.”

He gave a wobbly smile, looking helpless in his big hospital bed.

“I would hate it, so much. But I understand, I promise.”

“Haz-”

“And I’m angry at you, for keeping the other stuff from me. Hannah and, and the baby. Although I suppose there’s no baby anymore by now. Are they...um, a girl or a boy?”

Louis had to make an effort to get his throat to work properly, rasping out his answer.

“A boy.”

Harry’s smile grew, eyes crinkling at the corners, “Yeah?”

Louis nodded, swallowing.

“Yeah, a boy. Name’s Jamie.”

“You n-named him Jamie?”

“Well, of course I did, Haz. He wouldn’t have answered to anything else.” Harry had called the baby Jamie since they found out Hannah was pregnant. Louis protested every time, announcing loudly for the baby to hear that if a kid of his had to be deprived of Harry’s flashy surname, then they could at least think of a first name with an impact. Harry would roll his eyes and speak directly to Hannah’s belly, pointedly calling the bump Jamie so that it jiggled with Hannah’s chuckles.

Harry seemed to need a moment to digest the news, going quiet again.

“Harry,” Louis tried again, but Harry spoke over him.

“Does he know about me?” he asked, blinking up at the ceiling as if he was trying to keep himself from crying again. And again because of Louis.

“Of course he bloody knows about you, Harry,” Louis said, his own voice as unsteady as his hands clenched on the fabric of his jumper. “He met you the day after he was born, he, he walked for the first time going from my chair to your bed, at the home. At, at Sunny Bay, where you were staying. All the staff know him. Everyone-”

“What?” Harry asked when Louis didn’t go on, voice rough.

“Everyone always says how much like you he looks. He fucking loves hearing that. And it’s not only like, his appearance. He’s like you in ways that- He does things sometimes, or say things that-”

Louis didn’t know how to explain it. Jamie was like Harry in impossible ways, because Jamie had never seen Harry awake, but he moved and talked exactly like him, sometimes. When Jamie had just began to walk, Anne used to stare at the way he strutted around with his hands planted on his little hips, chest puffed up, and swear she was staring at Harry when he was that age.

“I- I have pictures, if you’d like to see them,” he offered, gesturing at his phone, still on Harry’s bedside table. He had taken one the day before (Jamie holding Anne’s cat Beet up to his chest and grinning) with the sole purpose of showing it to Harry.

But Harry shook his head.

“I’d like to meet him first.”

“Alright, we can do that.”

“Who- Where’s he now?”

“He’s at school. Preschool. He’s been staying at your mum’s.”

“Does he know I’m awake?” Harry asked, and finally looked at Louis again. His eyes were dry this time, and Louis took a tentative step forward.

“I- No, he doesn’t,” he said, reaching Harry’s bed and holding onto the rail. He wanted to reach out and take one of Harry’s hands, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle Harry shaking him off. “I’ve handled this poorly, I know.”

Harry said nothing and the lump that had been forming in Louis’ throat grew, threatening to choke him.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, this-” He clutched the rail in his hands until his knuckles went white. “I don’t mean to keep putting my foot in my mouth, I don’t want to upset you again, but I don’t want to lie to you. Harry-”

“Lou,” Harry said softly, “I’m not upset.”

Louis scoffed, amused despite himself.

“Haz, trust me, you haven’t magically become a good liar just because you’ve-”

“I mean that you can tell me the truth, and it’s not your fault if I can’t handle it.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re beautiful and good and...and of course you’ve found someone else to-”

“Harry, for fuck’s sake!” Louis leaned forward and took Harry’s face between his hands as gently and firmly as he could, forcing him to turn and look at him properly. “Harry, listen to me. I have not found someone else. I have not been looking for someone else. There is no one in the whole world who would come close to you, why would I even bother?”

“I don’t know if that’s worse, Lou,” Harry whispered, cheeks squished in Louis’ hands.

“Haz, I could never-” No, that was lie. He had tried. He had stopped visiting and he had tried to look forward and he had said yes to Jordan, hadn’t he? Even if the mere idea sounded impossible now, standing in front of Harry, speaking to him, he had tried. “I d-did something.”

Harry frowned and Louis wanted nothing more than to kiss the crease between his eyebrows. His lips. He wanted to kiss him properly.

“What did you do, Lou?”

Louis let go and took a step back. Just to be safe, he put his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out again. Harry wouldn’t want Louis to touch him after he’d heard.

“There’s this bloke, at work,” he said, and then it was as if the floodgates had been opened, because all of a sudden he was sobbing and blubbering down at his feet, unable to meet Harry’s eye. “There’s a bloke at work, we went out, he asked me out. I took Jamie to Anne’s and, and had dinner with him. And h-he kissed me in his car. I took him home. We- I-” He took in a trembling breath, vision swimming. He couldn’t say it. Fuck.

“You slept together?” Harry asked quietly and Louis sniffled and nodded. “And then?”

Louis bit his lip, trying to control himself. This was not how he had imagined any of this going. He was an adult and he had done more crying in the last three days than his five-year-old had done in the last year.

“Then I woke up in the morning and I got a call, telling me you were awake.”

Harry’s machines buzzed and beeped. Outside, a light rain was starting again, hitting the window pane in a soft splatter. Harry said nothing, and Louis crossed his arms over his chest, feeling exposed. He kept his eyes down until he felt a little tug on the leg of his trousers.

Harry had reached over and pinched the fabric between two fingers.

“Don’t cry, Lou,” he said. “It’s alright.”

Louis laughed a horrible little laugh, incredulous. “Nothing’s alright, Harry. How can you say you don’t know me? How can you think I’d ever leave you behind?”

“It’d be okay if you did.”

“Oh, really?” Louis’ voice rose, going a little shrill. “It’d be okay if I’d left you here, then? If I took my kid and never saw you again? If I’d ignored that phone call and pretended-”

“Louis-”

“I would never leave you behind, not if you slept for a hundred fucking years, I wouldn't. How can you think that?”

“I’d rather think that than knowing you’ve been by yourself all this time,” Harry argued, his own voice rising. He visibly reined himself in, and when he next spoke, he was whispering. “I don’t want to have left you all alone.”

Louis let out another shaky laugh, rubbing at his wet face with his sleeve.

“You didn’t, Harry,” he said. “I missed you so much I thought it might kill me sometimes, but I was never alone.”

Not with Jaime there, and Anne and Robin moving to London to be closer to them. Not with his family checking on him daily, or Niall forcing him to go out. He’d been lonely, but he had not been alone.

Daring a quick glance at Harry’s face, he asked, “Do you hate me now?”

The way Harry’s eyes widened was almost funny. He let go of Louis’ trousers and scrambled for one of his hands, clutching it tightly in his and pulling Louis forward until his thighs were pressing against the bed.

“I hate that someone else touched you,” Harry said, “and that I wasn’t there for so many things. For J-Jamie. But. But I don’t hate _you_ . I love you, _always_. Even if I slept for a hundred years.”

Louis laughed, brought his free hand to Harry’s wrist and squeezed.

“I love you, too,” he said with a sob. “I’m sorry I’ve mucked everything up.”

“You haven’t.” Harry tugged him closer. “I promise you haven’t.”

Louis let himself be led forward, until he was burying his nose in Harry’s hair, skimming his lips across his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against the warm skin. “I should have said something sooner. I should’ve-” Handled things better. Been better.

“Lou,” Harry rasped, “are you gonna kiss me?” Louis froze, heart stuttering before picking up at double speed. “Or am I not pretty enough anymore?”

He huffed out a laugh that rustled Harry’s short hair, and slid his lips down the bridge of his nose, to his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“I wanted to kiss you when you were a spotty dork,” he said.

“You _did_ kiss me when I was a spotty dork,” Harry replied, Louis felt his mouth move against his own. “And you were also a spotty dork.”

When Louis moved the last centimetre he needed, and he pressed his lips fully against Harry’s, it was almost as if no time had passed at all. He was eighteen, and clumsily kissing Gemma’s flirty little brother, praying she wouldn’t come back in the room. He was twenty and kissing his boyfriend in his new flat, unpacked boxes all around them. Twenty-four and on their wedding night, off their faces and giggling too much to kiss properly. Twenty-six and sleepily returning Harry’s good morning kiss as Harry left for work on their last morning together, burrowing back in the covers afterwards, just like every other day.

Harry hadn’t kissed him in five years, and feeling his lips move against Louis’ made everything since then disappear. Everything around them, the room, the nurses talking outside, everything faded, and there was only Louis, and Harry, and plush skin, a tentative tongue, fingers on the back of his neck.

If Louis had been worried about it being different, about them not fitting together like they used to, that worry vanished along with everything else. Kissing Harry had always been like coming home.

When he needed to come up for air, Louis pulled back just enough to press his forehead against Harry’s and breathe against his face. There were tear tracks on Harry’s cheeks that Louis thumbed dry, pressing kisses where his fingers brushed.

“For the record,” he whispered. “I was never spotty. Or a dork.”

“You tell yourself that,” Harry whispered back, “but I have evidence. Or, I had. I had a folder on my phone with photos your mum sent me.”

Louis leaned back. “I didn’t know that.”

“We had our secrets,” Harry said, all prim, nose up, before his expression turned into something softer. “Is she coming to visit soon?”

“Yes, shit,” Louis withdrew completely, palming at the bedside table until he found his phone. It was hard to look away from Harry, his rosy cheeks, bright pink lips. He always looked the prettiest freshly kissed. “I was supposed to call them. I-I have to leave for a little bit, I promised I’d pick Jamie up from preschool.”

Harry shifted in bed, looking unsure.

“Our mums were going to stop by while I was gone to keep you company,” Louis explained. “Is that okay?”

“Will, will you bring him here?”

Harry looked exhausted again, and he had barely moved since they had wheeled him back into the room. He had barely moved since he’d woken up, actually. Dr. Sheldon’s warning was still at the forefront of Louis’ mind - he was not supposed to do anything to upset him. Jamie was a handful on a good day. Now, he would be tired and cranky after school, and Louis still had to try and deliver the news about his Sleeping Beauty father waking up.

“How about I bring him over tomorrow morning,” he offered, taking Harry’s hand in his. “After we’ve all had some sleep. I still have to talk to him, and he’ll want to dress up to meet you.”

“He will?”

“Oh, he loves an excuse to dress up, trust me. Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Harry smiled, and let Louis type up a message for his mum on his phone. He was only a few minutes late, he could still make it to Jamie’s school if he left now.

“They’ll be here soon, okay? But I have to go before I make him worry.”

“You’ll be back later?”

“Just tell my mum to text me when you want me back.”

With a tug of his hand, he brought Louis in for one more kiss, lingering for a second to rub their noses together.

“Tell Jamie I love him, yeah?”

Louis had to force himself to move away, letting his fingers graze Harry’s lips as he stood back.

“Been telling him since the day he was born.”


	2. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the support :) And once again thank you to [E](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polka_stripes/pseuds/polka_stripes) and [Chloe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelarry10/pseuds/lovelarry10) for all their help! 
> 
> Last part will be out very soon.

After spending way too much time trying to decide on an outfit for Jamie, Louis threw his hands up and let his kid pick his clothes himself. He could hear Jamie belting out a song about it in his room all the way to the kitchen, something about his red wellies and his footie kit. Apparently he’d be colour coordinated.

Louis smiled down at his tea, ignoring the nervous flutter in his belly.

His talk with Jamie the night before had not gone as smoothly as he’d hoped. Louis had decided to talk to him before bed, relaxed and sleepy after his bath, his Granny Jay resting in the guest room. Louis had stalled, tucking Jamie in tight, fluffling up his pillow until he giggled and swatted his hands away. Louis had sat on the edge of the mattress and looked down at Jamie’s big blue eyes drooping sleepily.

“Bug, I have some news,” he’d finally said, and Jamie had blinked up at him, clearly half asleep already.

“Bad news?” he asked, his little voice slurring.

“No, good news. Very good news.”

Louis’ tongue felt thick in his mouth, inexplicable nerves making his palms damp. He rubbed them on his thighs and smiled.

“You remember how Granny Anne and I visited someone at hospital?” Jamie nodded. “Well,” he took a breath, “we were visiting Papa.”

At Jamie’s sudden grin, Louis relaxed. It lasted a second, as then Jamie said, “Papa doesn’t live there, silly,” and Louis tensed up all over again. “He lives close to the river. There’s a playground.”

“That’s part of the good news.” He brushed Jamie’s hair off his forehead, rolling his eyes when Jamie immediately scrunched up his nose and pushed his hand away. He was very particular about his hair - keeping it trimmed was an ordeal. Niall was usually recruited for holding-still duty. “Papa is living at the hospital because he’s woken up.”

Jamie scowled, little mouth pursing.

“No, Papa’s sleeping.”

“No, bug,” Louis told him gently. “He’s woken up.”

“Why?”

Louis hesitated before settling with, “Maybe he wasn’t so tired anymore.”

“No,” Jamie said and turned over to lie on his side, facing away from Louis. “You’re making a joke. Good night.”

“Jamie, I’m not joking, I promise.”

“Good night, Daddy.”

“Jamie,” Louis sighed, curling a hand around Jamie’s shoulder and pulling him onto his back again. “I’m not joking. Papa really is awake, sweetheart. He told me to tell you he loves you very much. We can go visit him together tomorrow.”

Jamie stared at him quietly for a moment, before his eyes suddenly filled with tears, cheeks going a blotchy red alarmingly fast.

“We’re going?” he asked and when Louis nodded, he cried, “I don’t wanna!” as he curled his fingers over his eyes. “H-he’s angry at me.”

Bewildered, Louis pressed his hand against Jamie’s forehead, leaning in closer.

“Why would Papa be angry, bug?”

“Cuz,” Jamie babbled, grabbing at Louis’ arm. “Cuz I didn’t wanna visit on my birthday.”

“He’s not angry about that, darling. He wanted you to have fun on your birthday. You had fun, didn’t you?”

Jamie nodded, face wet and chin wobbling. Even like this, he looked just like a miniature version of Harry. Louis plucked some tissue from the box on the shelf by Jamie’s bed and wiped his nose, pink with tears. It broke his heart to see his kid upset about something that had probably been in his mind for months, his adamant refusal to spend his birthday cooped up in Harry’s room, something that had come out of nowhere.

Every year on Jamie’s birthday (and on Christmas Eve, for Louis’) Louis made sure there was a present waiting for him by Harry’s bed at Sunny Bay. Even back when Jamie had been too young to understand what a present was, Louis had always felt better making Jamie feel like Harry thought of him. This year, between organizing the party, finishing up some projects for work and managing his own guilt about the fact that they were skipping on a visit, Louis had forgotten all about it.

He’d remembered a day later, and he’d sat up in bed in a panic, ready to run to the shop and find something right then. But Jamie hadn’t asked. Jamie hadn’t mentioned Harry at all, and Louis had thought his kid deserved to be able to live without being tied down by someone who was little more than a fantasy to him. All of Jamie’s memories of Harry were of him sleeping. Everything he knew about him were stories Louis and Anne had told him, stories that got a little more embellished every time.

“He’s angry,” Jamie sobbed, and Louis grabbed him under the arms and sat him on his lap, cuddling him close. Jamie was getting so big lately, Louis wouldn’t be able to pick him up so easily soon.

“Papa would never be angry about something like that,” he said, stroking Jamie’s back and rocking him back and forth. He could see his mum peeking at them from the guest room across the hall, and he sent her a pained smile and a shrug. “I know him better than anyone, so you can trust me on that.”

“You don’t know,” Jamie argued against his chest. Louis gathered him closer, bundling him up in a little ball and squeezing.

“I do, I know everything Papa’s thinking. It’s a bit like magic.”

“You’re lying.”

“I would never!” Louis shook Jamie gently and felt him giggle. “Let me concentrate and I’ll show you.”

Jamie peeked up at him from where he was burrowed against Louis’ jumper, eyes wide and wet, and Louis’ made a face at him, furrowing his brow and crossing his eyes.

“Mmh,” he hummed, tilting his head from side to side until Jamie laughed louder, his pointy little chin digging into Louis’ chest. “Papa’s thinking about supper. And his nose is itchy and his feet are smelly. And he’s thinking that he can’t wait to meet you, bug.”

Jamie’s smiled dimmed slightly, big eyes lowering.

“Why can’t he come here?” he asked in a mumble.

“Well, he’s been sleeping too long, you see, so now he’s forgotten how to do some things. Like walking.”

At Jamie’s frown, Louis added, “Maybe you can show him how to. You remember how to walk, don’t you, James? And you’re good at it, too!”

Curled up in Louis lap, with tears drying on his cheeks, Jamie nodded with a small grin. As soon as Jamie fell asleep, Louis said good night to his mum and drove back to Harry, who hadn’t managed to wait up for him and was sleeping on his side, supported by a couple of pillows to keep him off his back.

Driving himself back home in the morning knowing that his mum and Jamie were waiting for him hadn’t exactly made it easier to leave before Harry was awake, but knowing Liam was back to look after him had.

Now, Louis sipped his tea and waited for Jamie to join him. His mum was getting ready in the guest room, and Niall had already sent him a dozen messages in the last fifteen minutes alone.

_Heard your bringing the tyke to meet the other tyke today send pictures !!_

_*you’re before you coerrct me_

_*correct fck_

Louis had sent him a selfie, middle finger up in the air.

It took Jamie nearly half an hour to come into the kitchen, ready to go. As Louis expected, he was wearing half of his Man U kit, the red shirt and the high socks. Instead of the shorts, he’d opted for his swim trunks, green with two yellow starfish stamped on his bum. He was wearing his footie specs, the thicker ones with the tighter security band that went around his head, and, as his song had predicted, he was carrying his red wellies in his arms.

Louis hadn’t really expected anything less, but he was still surprised into a laugh.

“Let’s take a picture for Uncle Niall.” He snapped a shot of Jamie doing a karate pose for some reason, and sent it to Niall before setting about getting Jamie some breakfast.

His mum came into the kitchen as both of them munched on orange slices. She complimented Jamie on his outfit before walking over to Louis and putting her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug, kissing the top of his head.

She’d been hugging and kissing him at random intervals since they’d first seen each other the night before. Louis was all too happy to let her, even if Jamie kept asking why. These days, they didn’t get to see each other often. His mum couldn’t spend a lot of time away from home, not with Ernest and Doris there, and even if Louis could manage to get away for a few days when Jamie was out of school, he always felt strange about leaving Harry behind for long.

His mother had talked about moving closer to London after Jamie was born, just like Anne had done, but Louis hadn’t let her. He couldn’t allow her to uproot his siblings because of him.

“Are you excited about today, sweetheart?” she asked Jamie while Louis fixed her a cup of tea. Jamie shrugged as he started on his cereal. He had been avoiding the subject of his visit to Harry since Louis had woken him up, only perking up a bit when he had been allowed to pick his own clothes out.

Louis had no idea what to expect from the day. Just in case, he had bought a couple of small toys in the hospital gift shop earlier, asked the teller to wrap them up and left them with Harry. A late birthday present for Jamie. Louis was not above bribing his kid.

“I was thinking of visiting, later in the summer,” Louis mum said, taking the cup Louis handed her with a smile. “The whole family, what do you think, darlings?”

“ _Efry’un?_ ” Jamie asked, milk and bits of cereal flying from his mouth.

“Yup, everyone. Does that sound good?”

While Jamie cheered, she turned to Louis, speaking quietly, only for him.

“There’s enough room if we split up between here and Anne’s,” she said. “I think it’d be nice for you to have more people around, to lend a hand and distract Jamie a bit, but it’s up to you, love.”

“I don’t know, Mum,” Louis mumbled back, keeping an eye on Jamie to make sure he wasn’t listening. “I don’t want to overwhelm them. Either of them.”

He loved his family, love his siblings, adored his mum. But having all of them under one roof, even two, plus an over-excited Jamie and a recovering Harry didn’t exactly sound like the best idea.

His mum nodded, squeezing his knee.

“Have you thought about where Harry will be staying after he’s discharged?” she asked and Louis’ head snapped up, confused.

“Here, of course,” he said. “I’ve got time off work, I- of course he’s coming home.”

His mum gave him an uncertain smile, and Louis’ belly swooped with a new wave of nerves.

“What? Is something wrong? Yesterday-” She had visited the day before, had spent the evening with Harry, Anne, and Robin at the hospital while Louis took care of Jamie. Later she had come home, hugged Louis in tears, and told him she couldn’t believe how well Harry looked, she hadn’t been sure what she would find when she visited, she’d never heard of something like this happening. But Harry was here, all of him was back. Hearing his mum say it, despite the fact that he had been hearing it from Harry’s doctor for days - had seen it himself - had filled him with relief.

“He’s fine,” she reassured him now. “Better than, he’s perfect. But there are so many stairs here. And he’ll need help with all sorts of things, at first. Maybe he could stay at Anne’s at the beginning, he’d be more comfortable. And you could hire a nurse to-”

“Mum,” Louis stopped her, “I want him here.”

It was selfish, yes, but Harry was back, and Louis wanted his husband under his roof, in his bed. Failing that, he could set up a room in his office, on the ground floor. There was a bathroom and the kitchen was only four steps up. By then, they would be able to manage four steps.

His mum patted his knee and picked up her tea.

“That’s all weeks away still, forget I said anything.”

Jamie was done with his breakfast and when Louis looked over, he found him fiddling with the strap of his glasses. His cheeks were sticky from the orange slices.

“How about we change into your regular specs, bug? They won’t pinch so bad.”

Jamie shook his head, dropping his hands, but Louis made a note to pack the glasses anyway. Give Jamie one less reason to be cranky later.

“Can we go to the park?” Jamie asked, bouncing a little in his seat.

“We can’t today, we’re gonna visit Papa, remember?”

“What about school?”

“You can miss school today,” Louis did his best to sound enthusiastic, but he was gearing up for an argument, he could feel it.

“Can I go back to bed instead, Daddy? I don’t feel so good,” Jamie mumbled, rubbing at his belly. Louis had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. This was another trait Jamie shared with Harry: they were both horrible liars.

“It’s good news we’re going to the hospital then, isn’t it?”

Jamie pouted, crossing his stubby little arms across his chest.

“Jamie,” Louis sighed. With a quick glance at his mum, he got up and walked around the table. Jamie refused to look at him, even when Louis turned his chair and squatted down to be at eye level. When he nudged Jamie’s chin up, the little boy shrunk back and away. Stubborn, as always. “Jamie.”

“I said I don’t feel so good,” he said, scrunching his eyes shut. “But I don’t need to go to the hospital. I want soup.”

“It’s a little warm for soup,” Louis told him gently, stroking one of his pink cheeks with his thumb. “Why don’t you want to visit Papa, huh? You still think he’s angry?”

Jamie shrugged his little shoulders.

“I promise you he’s not angry, bug. I promise.” When Jamie didn’t relent, Louis scooted closer, poking at his belly. “You know what? I bet if we visit Papa, he can convince the people there to get us some ice cream.”

Jamie’s eyebrows twitched.

“He’s a very important person there, you know? They get him anything he asks for.”

“Really?”

Louis poked Jamie’s nose until he opened his eyes, blue and round behind his glasses.

“Really. Most important person in the whole building.”

Jamie was in good spirits throughout the entire drive to the hospital. He hummed to himself, staring out the window and pointing at whatever caught his attention, and both Louis and his mum _ooh_ and _aah_ ’d at anything Jamie found interesting, sharing relieved smiles, even if Louis’ grip on the wheel was a little tight.

The receptionist in charge was one of the women Louis was already familiar with, and she handed them their visitor passes with no fuss. She even took the time to admire Jamie’s wellies, which he happily showed off for her.

“Takes me back to when you used to visit me at work,” Louis’ mum whispered to him, watching the way Jamie flirted with everyone behind the reception desk. “You were quite the cheeky boy.”

“He gets it from Harry,” Louis said and his mum laughed, squeezing his hand.

“You tell yourself that, love.”

They were about to move to the lifts when one of the receptionists asked Jamie, “Are you on your way to the daycare, then?” and Jamie’s entire face lit up. He turned to Louis with such naked hope in his eyes that Louis surrendered before he even asked.

“Can I, Daddy? Please?”

“Mum?” Louis sighed, ruffling Jamie’s hair even if it made the boy huff. “Could you take him for a little bit?”

Jamie turned to his Granny with his hands clasped over his head, his most charming smile on his face.

“Why, of course,” she agreed easily, already beckoning Jamie over. “You’ll need to show me the way, sweetheart.”

“It’s on floor two, I know where!” Jamie announced, and marched them all to the lifts. Louis left them on the second floor with a wave and a promise to see them soon, and continued on to Harry’s floor by himself.

There was more noise and activity on the eighth floor than usual, families visiting and crowding the hallway. Maybe Wednesday was a popular day. Louis bumped into Liam almost as soon as he got off the lift, knocking shoulders and sending a chart clattering to the floor.

“Whoa, clumsy,” Louis laughed and bent down to pick the clipboard up. “Sorry, mate. Had a good day off?”

Liam looked a little harried, but smiled all the same, smoothing down his scrubs.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. Your husband said-” His smiled dropped as he looked behind Louis, his eyes turning sad. “Oh, I thought-”

“He’s downstairs, gathering his courage,” Louis explained. “He’s nervous.”

“I reckon he’s not the only one.” Liam took his chart back and gestured towards Harry’s room. “Dr. Sheldon’s done her rounds already, but I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Stop by later and I’ll introduce you to the little one.” Louis stepped around an older couple on his way to Harry’s room. “Might have to ask you where to find some ice cream around here.”

Harry was sitting up in his bed. Louis stood by the door for a moment before entering, blinking at him until he realized what was so different. His feeding tube was gone, and he was wearing a familiar-looking jumper over his hospital gown. If Louis ignored the disaster on his head, he looked almost like the old Harry, who liked to laze around their place in Louis’ clothes and not shower on Sundays if he was hungover.

“Hey,” Louis said, walking inside. Harry startled a bit, and only then Louis noticed the two small packages in his hands.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry said, looking at the door and back at Louis. “Um, are you by yourself?”

“He’s downstairs, I’ll bring him up in a bit.”

Harry slumped back against his pillows. “Good,” he said. “I was nervous, I wanted to talk to you first.”

Louis walked around the bed and glanced at his cot, folded up and put out of the way, his bags carefully set by the dresser. If he hadn’t been so sure Harry couldn’t get up yet, he would have thought he’d cleaned.

“What happened here?” He walked up to Harry and put a hand on his cheek without hesitating. Harry tilted his head towards the touch, angled his chin up. Louis happily gave him a peck, two. It still sent electricity down to his toes, left him feeling warm all over. “Did you make Liam tidy this place up?”

Harry fiddled with the presents on his lap, mind clearly somewhere else.

“I opened one, I thought they were for me,” he said, one side of his mouth going up.

“I should’ve left a note.”

“They’re for Jamie?” Harry asked and Louis took the boxes and placed them on the bedside table. They were still perfectly wrapped, but one had a different pattern on the paper than Louis remembered.

“Well, unless Liam likes crayons and toy dinosaurs.” Louis sat by Harry, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. “You owed him a birthday present, so.”

“I owe him plenty, I think,” Harry mumbled. He reached out and traced the tip of his finger along Louis’ cheek, scratching at the stubble there. Louis’ beard hadn’t been so long back before the accident, just prickly enough to leave Harry’s skin pink and a little sore where Louis decided to press his face against. “I realized, this morning, when I saw those,” he nodded towards the bedside table, “that I don’t know a lot about him, do I?”

Louis didn’t say anything, only took Harry’s hand in both of his and held it over his knee.

“Can you tell me some things? About him. Even if they’re silly, I just...just want to know more.”

“Like what, love?”

Harry shrugged, chewing on his lip. He kept sending little looks towards the door, as if he was afraid Jamie was going to pop up all of a sudden, before he was ready.

“I dunno,” he said. “His favourite colour, best friend at school? I know he’s a happy kid, ‘cause he’s got you, but what is he like? Is he loud? Is he one of those serious kids that look like they know everything you’re thinking?”

Louis laughed, “Definitely not, he’s not one of those kids. He _can_ be loud, I guess.” He leaned back, meeting Harry’s eye and holding it, trying to project a calm he was not exactly feeling himself. “He’s always singing, about whatever he’s doing. He’s pretty much tone-deaf so it’s hilarious.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, his smile widening, and Louis nodded.

“Favourite colour’s red, of course. He’s a little Devil, all the way down to his soul. That’s Robin’s influence, just so you know. We almost lost him to the Rams there for a while, but our colours are better and our players are always happy to take photos with little fans.”

“As long as their dad gives them good press?”

Louis gasped, mock scandalized, “Now, what are you implying here, exactly?”

Harry tugged at his hands, “What else, Lou?”

“Let’s see, what else…. Best friend, he doesn’t really have one. He doesn’t make friends all that easily. He’s...a bit of an oddball.”

“How so?”

“Did I mention he sings all the time? I meant all the time, when he’s doing something for long enough that his mind wanders. Like arts and crafts in preschool, solving puzzles and stuff like that. Other kids don’t like it, apparently. And he’s really good at talking with grownups, but he doesn’t bother with people his age.”

At Harry’s worried look, Louis went on, “It doesn’t bother him. And most kids can be little shits at his age, they’ll grow out of it.”

“Five-year-olds cannot be little shits, Lou.”

“Just because you were an angel doesn’t mean we all were, love.”

“They tease him?”

“No,” Louis said. “He’s got his mates, but I don’t think he’s particularly close with any of them yet. Most of the tykes just stay out of his way.”

“Because he sings sometimes?” Harry’s temper was rising, and Louis felt as if he was getting a glimpse of the kind of father Harry would have been if he’d been there since Jamie first started school. If he’d been there the first time Louis had a talk with his teacher, a talk about poor social skills and lack of participation during group activities. Maybe Harry would have been faster about shutting that teacher down and taking Jamie in for an eye test.

“Well, that and his specs. And the fact that he’s got two dads and one of them has been sleeping since he was born and he used to tell everyone he met about it.”

“Not anymore?”

“Not for a while,” Louis said, squaring his shoulders. “He’s feeling a bit guilty today.”

“Guilty? Why?”

“We didn’t visit you for his birthday,” Louis said in a rush, trying not to think too much about it. “We always visited. His birthday, mine, yours. And during the rest of the year, of course, but...those were our unmovable visits.”

“You didn’t have-”

“Harry,” Louis said, firm, and Harry shut his mouth with a click. “Hush. We visited every year, but this year he didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to force him. He thinks you might be angry about it.”

“Hence the presents?” Harry asked quietly.

“Hence the presents.”

“I would never be angry about something like that. Did you tell him?”

“I told him, but you can try again when he comes up. He tried to pretend he was ill earlier.” Louis realized his mistake as soon as Harry’s eyes widened, hurt flashing across his face before his nerves from before seemed to settle back in.

“He didn’t want to come?”

“Of course he did,” Louis hurried to say. “He’s just nervous, he’ll feel better once he sees you. You don’t look very scary at the moment.”

“I prefer not to look scary ever,” Harry argued, scowling.

“Good, ‘cause you never did.” Louis pressed a knuckle right in between Harry’s eyebrows, giving his head a gentle shove. “Only thing scary about you right now is that hair.”

“Stop it with my hair,” Harry whined, very clearly trying not to smile. “Should I wear a hat? To meet Jamie, I mean. Does it really look scary?”

With a roll of his eyes, Louis tugged on one of the longer locks curling over Harry’s ear.

“Not scary, only a bit mental. You’ll feel better about it once you see his outfit.”

Harry sucked his lips into his mouth, chewing on them as he used to do when deep in thought. Just like he used to, Louis reached out and pinched them out from between Harry’s teeth, running his thumb along them before letting go. They were still dry and cracked. Louis wondered how long it would take for them to feel soft again.

“Maybe I should shave,” Harry mused. “Maybe then I’ll look friendlier.”

Louis barely managed to hold back a laugh.

“You saying my beard makes me look mean?”

“You can’t look mean,” Harry said with a scoff.

“And you can?”

“Lou, help me shave my beard?”

“To call that a beard, babe-”

“ _Lou._ ”

Louis put his hands up with a smirk and headed to the toilet for supplies without another word.

.

Harry had woken up a little disoriented that morning. He didn’t remember falling asleep, and Louis’ cot was empty when he opened his eyes, as it had been the night before. Before he had time to worry, though, Liam had popped his head into the room, smiling when he found Harry awake.

“Your husband will be back later,” he’d said as he changed one of Harry’s IV bags before moving to the end of his bed. As difficult as it was to embarrass him, Harry still found himself looking up at the ceiling, getting flustered everytime one of the nurses checked on his catheter and the little bag attached to it. Not to mention how much he wanted his bed to swallow him up everytime they did other stuff down there that he preferred not to think about.

“He’s bringing our kid over,” Harry told the overhead lights. “Did you know I have a little boy?”

“I did,” Liam said.

“Have you met him?”

“Not yet.” Liam moved back up the bed towards the monitors by Harry’s head, and Harry ignored the burning of his cheeks and smiled at him.

“I’ll introduce you later.”

Harry hadn’t started getting nervous until he’d accidentally opened one of Jamie’s presents later, and had to press the call button and ask Liam for help getting it wrapped again.

“You think dinosaurs are his favourite animal?” He asked Liam.

“Most kids like dinosaurs, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but, are they his favourite?” Harry had realized that he didn’t know anything about Jamie, and just then, with Liam checking his feeding bag, he realized he probably also looked a fright to a five year old boy. “Liam, could we, um, lose some of these?” He gestured at the wires sticking out of his gown, giving Liam his best pleading look. “Pretty please from your VIP?”

Liam had laughed, his smile scrunching up his whole face, and he’d agreed to remove the feeding tube, which was not a pleasant experience. He cleared up the room, folding up Louis’ cot and putting his bags away, and dug up Louis’ jumper from between the couch cushions, to help Harry hide most of the wires still attached to him. By the time Louis had come back, Harry had started to feel a little less like a stuffed dummy and more like himself. And by the time Louis was done shaving his face, Harry felt refreshed. His cheeks were smooth to the touch, and the aftershave was Louis’ own, because he’d forgotten to buy a new one, and the scent was familiar and comforting.

(Harry barely dwelled on the fact that he’d had to stop himself from thinking about Louis touching someone else’s face as carefully as he touched his. Louis kissing someone else like he did him. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it, not when he was about to meet Jamie. Those were thoughts he knew would haunt him later, when he was trying to fall asleep and dreading it at the same time, and he was happy to delay them for as long as possible.)

Later, Liam stopped by to check on Harry again while he was listening to a list of Jamie’s favourite films. Most of them were fairly new, so Harry had never heard of them, but Louis seemed happy to summarize for him. He looked relieved to be interrupted in the middle of his film review, though. Harry hadn’t really been following the plots anyway. He could could tell Louis was nervous from the way he kept letting go of his hand to fiddle with his own hair, sometimes switching it up and tugging at Harry’s instead, or smoothing a hand down Harry’s borrowed jumper.

“Everything alright over here?” Liam asked from the door.

“Liam, mate, did he make you clean up after me?” Louis asked, turning to Liam with a smirk.

“I didn’t make him, Lou,” Harry protested. “I used my powers for good.”

“Used your powers, did you?” Louis smiled at him, his eyes softening. “Should’ve waited and showed off for Jamie.”

“I’ll still be here later if you want to show off, Mr. Tomlinson,” Liam said. “I’ll just be taking a short lunch break down at the cafeteria.”

“Fuck, lunch already?” Louis muttered, standing up. “I should bring him up. You ready? Got anymore questions for me?”

“No, just,” Harry hesitated and watched Louis’ smile dim. “It’ll be okay, won’t it?”

“Of course it will!” Louis ran a hand through his own hair, and Harry followed the movement with his eyes, already missing the weight of him sitting on his bed. “And if it’s not, we’ll fix it. Alright?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Louis kissed the top of his head before leaving, Liam politely pretending to be looking at his chart, as if they were doing something indecent.

“You look down my gown everyday,” Harry told him after Louis was gone. “And you don’t even bat an eye.”

“That’s different,” Liam said. “That’s my job, and you haven’t got anything I’ve not seen before.”

When Harry wiggled his eyebrows at him, Liam huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m intruding when you’re...having a moment. There’s not a lot of privacy around here.”

Harry grinned at him. “You’re sweet,” he said, channeling his mother, and then, “Do you think I look scary?”

Liam blinked at him for a moment.

“Do you...want to look scary?”

“I want to look the opposite of scary.”

“You do, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Harry was about to ask him what happened with him calling him by his first name when there was a quiet knock on the door. Louis was back.

“Look who I found on the lift,” he said, his voice soft, and Harry looked down to see a little blond head peeking out from behind his legs. Harry actually felt his heart skipping a beat and for a second it was hard to breathe. It was a bit alarming, the way everything seemed to tilt, his vision swimming before coming back in sharp focus. The spike of nerves in his gut nearly made him sick.

“Hi, Jamie,” he managed to croak out. Jamie. That was his son, and he looked exactly like Louis. “I- I like your boots.”

Jamie’s eyes looked huge behind his glasses, blue and round. His hair was straight and long enough to cover his ears. He was holding onto Louis’ legs, both hands clenched around the fabric of his trousers. Harry could barely make out a red welly peeking out from behind Louis’ shoes.

“They’re my wellies,” Jamie said, and his voice was high and he was so small, everything about him was, but he seemed so grown up to Harry, who realized he had been half expecting to meet a baby. Jamie hadn’t been a baby for a long time.

“I like them,” Harry offered, at a loss. He was out of words all of a sudden - all he could do was stare at this tiny version of Louis and try not to start crying and scare him away. Jamie stared back, assessing him. Harry was starting to sweat.

“What’s that on the table next to you, Harry?” Louis asked, breaking the horrible silence. He sounded just as unsettled as Harry felt, but Harry was still glad for the help. “Are those presents?”

“Y-yeah, birthday presents.” Harry’s hands felt alien to him, his fingers clumsy as he fumbled with the two packages before managing to pick them up properly. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late.”

He held them up, feeling terribly aware of the fact that he couldn’t stand up, and watched Louis nudge Jamie forward. The little boy took a step, eyes darting between Harry’s face and the presents in his hands.

“Go on,” Louis encouraged him and Jamie let out a put-upon sigh, making Harry bite down on a laugh. He was feeling slightly hysterical.

Jamie walked forward at a snail’s pace, dragging his feet and making his wellies squeak on the floor. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him. When he was finally close enough, he carefully handed Jamie his presents, cataloging every freckle on Jamie’s nose, his short, pink nails picking at the wrapping paper.

“What do you say, bug?” Louis called from the other side of the room.

“Thank you, Papa,” Jamie mumbled, and _oh_. Harry had not been expecting that to feel quite so...intense.

He blubbered something that was meant to be a ‘You’re welcome’ but sounded more like someone was strangling him, and then bit his lip into his mouth and watched Jamie open his presents.

He was facing away from Harry, but he had not gone back to hide behind Louis, so Harry didn’t think he’d managed to scare him yet.

“Daddy, look!” Jamie held the box of crayons up for Louis to see, and Harry watched the _Tomlinson_ stamped on the back of his jersey stretch with the movement. He was wearing swim trunks. For some reason it made Harry’s chest swell with emotion again - something nostalgic that felt close to sadness but not quite - and he had to breathe in and out slowly for a few seconds in order to keep it together.

When he felt a hand closing around one of his feet over his blanket, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Hello, dear,” Jay said, smiling at him. Harry hadn’t even seen her come in. Looking around, he realized that he hadn't noticed Liam leaving either. “Feeling alright?”

Harry nodded, eyes drawn back to Jamie, who had finished unwrapping his last present and had knelt on the floor to line up his new toy dinosaurs in front of him, box of crayons close by.

“Look at him,” Harry told Jay, his voice catching. “He’s so big, isn't he?”

The last time Harry had seen him had been during one of Hannah’s ultrasound. He had been a wiggling little thing in Hannah’s belly, kicking and pushing at her bladder so often Harry barely bothered to sit down when they visited, always ready to help her up and walk her to the loo as soon as she started getting uncomfortable. Louis used to mock him for it, but his eyes were always fond, his kisses sweeter when they drove back home.

Harry had painted Jamie’s nursery the softest green he had been able to find. He put together a crib that nearly drove him mad, nuts and bolts turning up with nowhere to screw them into. He’d spent a weekend with Robin, trying not to lose any of his fingers as they built his baby a little bookcase, something handmade to balance out all the new furniture they had amassed over the previous seven months.

Jamie would have had outgrown the crib years ago. He sat on the floor in front of Harry, fiddling with the strap of his glasses and humming a song under his breath, already five whole years old.

“Alright, Haz?” Louis asked, finally walking closer. He stood next to the bed and took Harry’s hand in his, Jay on Harry’s other side.

He knew he was not acting like he was supposed to. He was supposed to make Jamie feel welcome. He should be asking him questions, making conversation, not staring in silence. He could tell Jamie was aware of him, his little shoulders hunched protectively over his ears as he played, head tilting every now and then as if he was fighting the urge to turn and look at Harry.

Harry knew he was mucking this up but he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Lou,” he whispered, squeezing Louis’ fingers as hard as he could. “ _Help_.”

Louis squeezed back and called, “Jamie. Come show us your presents, bug.”

Jamie looked over his shoulder at them, his pale eyebrows pulled together in a worried frown, before beginning to gather his toys in his arms. His hands were small, and there had to be at least ten tiny plastic dinosaurs on the floor, plus the box of crayons. It took him a few minutes to figure out a way to carry everything at the same time, and he didn’t ask for help or get frustrated once.

For some reason it made Harry feel stupidly proud of him, and he smiled even though he knew it probably looked all wonky.

Jamie walked over until he was standing in front of Louis and pushed his chest forward, showing him his toys without risking moving his arms. He was staring at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“Wow, that’s a lot of dinosaurs,” Louis said, bending down to get a closer look. Harry’s grip on his hand was bordering on painful. “Haz, did you know James here can name all the dinosaurs in the world?”

“Yeah?” Harry rasped, cleared his throat. “The whole world?”

“Yes,” Jamie said, kind of but not really looking at him. His ears were a bright pink, poking out of his hair.

“Would you tell me?” Harry asked. Jamie nodded and said nothing. After a couple of seconds, Harry risked a quiet, “Well?”

“I already told you!” Jamie said, and the smile he turned on Harry was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen since Louis had walked into his hospital room the first day he woke up. “There’s no dinosaurs in the world anymore, so I didn’t say anything.”

Harry let out a honk of a laugh that surprised even him, and he used his and Louis’ clasped hands to cover his mouth, giggles making his shoulders jump. Jamie looked beyond proud of himself, and Harry noticed he had dimples on his cheeks similar to his own, but a sparkle in his eyes that was all Louis.

“I made that up,” Jamie said. He faced Harry with his whole body, toys still held against his chest. Harry wanted to pick him up and squish him. He settled for booping his little nose with a trembling finger.

“You’re a funny one, aren’t you?” Jamie nodded, so pleased his cheeks were flush with it. Harry patted the mattress next to his hip. “Why don’t you show me those dinos and tell me their names? I bet you can name all of them.”

Jamie dumped his toys on the bed with a relieved huff, as if he had been forced to hold up hundreds of kilos, and began sorting each plastic toy in two groups. The bed came up to his chest - he looked terribly small next to it.

“These ones like meat and these ones eat plants,” Jamie explained, and Harry nodded seriously.

“I see,” he said, pulling Louis closer. Jay had taken a seat on the chair by the bed, her elbows on the mattress, chin on her hands. “Can you name them?”

When Jamie began naming the dinosaurs, “This is Robert, Micah, Jessica,” Harry cackled again, throwing his head back against his pillows. He heard Louis laughing with him, and Jamie’s offended “ _What?_ ” and couldn’t stop, even if it made his belly hurt and his throat feel raw.

“Those are good names,” he managed between giggles, opening his eyes to see Jamie’s pouting face. “I didn’t mean to laugh, darling,” he said, sobering quickly. “I’m just...very happy to meet you.”

Jamie’s smile was small and a little shy this time. He looked down at his toys and fiddled with a bright yellow t-rex. Harry stared, still amazed. Jamie was real, a real person with a voice he could tell silly jokes with.

Liam came back into the room a moment later, pushing an empty wheelchair in front of him. Harry grinned.

“Liam, come meet Jamie,” he said, waving Liam over. “Jamie, that’s Liam. He takes care of me and gives me medicine.”

Jamie looked at Liam up and down and then turned back to Harry.

“Why d’you need medicine? Are you ill?”

“Oh, um.” Harry looked at Louis for help, but he only looked amused - if not a little misty-eyed - and said nothing. “I am a little bit ill. I think I slept for too long.”

“Daddy said you can’t remember how to walk. Is it true?”

“Are you calling me a liar, Jamie? Half an hour and you already turned him against me, Haz.” Louis nudged Jamie’s shoulder. “And you didn’t say hello to Liam. Be polite, please.”

“Hullo,” Jamie mumbled, looking at Liam over his shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Jamie. Hello, Ms. Deakin.”

Jay had cornered Liam the day before. She had questioned him about Harry’s condition and his treatment and had generally acted the same way Harry had seen her get about her younger kids - protective and a little fierce. Liam had taken it in stride and answered all her questions, and then called Dr. Sheldon over so Jay could ask the same things to her.

“Hello, Liam, darling. Busy morning?”

“Wednesdays usually are, no one’s sure why.”

“Papa,” Jamie said, tugging on Harry’s blanket. Again, a lump formed in his throat just hearing Jamie calling him that. “Is it true you can’t remember how to walk?”

“I- yes, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to do quite a few things.”

Jamie looked at him, eyes going from his face, down the length of his body, to his feet. He looked at the couch on the other side of the room, the window, and the restroom door. Attention back on Harry, he got on his tippy toes and leaned in close as far as he could. Harry did the same, feeling Louis’ arm sneaking around his back to help.

“How do you go to the loo?” Jamie whisper-shouted and Harry barked out a laugh, very aware of Jay chuckling next to him, Louis spluttering.

“Well,” Harry whisper-shouted back, “Liam helps me.”

Jamie’s expression was priceless. His eyes bugged out behind his glasses, little mouth dropping open in shock, but Harry did his best not to laugh in his face again. When Jamie glanced back at Liam again, he looked almost wary.

“You have to remember how to go by yourself again soon,” he told Harry very seriously. “Even I don’t need help, and you’re bigger.”

Harry nodded solemnly, struggling to keep a smile off his face. Louis’ arm was still around his shoulders, and Harry leaned against his side, aware of how relaxed he had become all of a sudden. All the tension from before had vanished, leaving him boneless and calm.

“You’re very right, Jamie,” he said. “I promise I’ll try.”

.

Louis watched Harry and Jamie talking to each other and had to stop himself from getting too emotional about it. It had looked bleak for a moment there at the beginning, what with Jamie being shy and nervous and Harry forgetting how to form full sentences at the sight of him. But Louis shouldn’t have doubted - there was no way the two most naturally charming people he knew would not get along. Charming didn’t even begin to cover it, not when Jamie finally loosened up and Harry got his wits about him again.

Lunch time came and went and the two of them were still absorbed in their conversation, Louis having stopped paying attention to the topic a while ago. Jamie had migrated up to the bed, sitting next to Harry and leaning back on his pillows, feet coming up to Harry’s knees. Harry had a careful arm around him, as if he was afraid to spook him. Louis smiled to himself at the mere idea. Jamie was all but sprawled over Harry’s torso as he talked, already comfortable enough he didn’t even flinch when Harry brushed his hair with his fingers. Jamie was not moving anytime soon.

Louis and his mum sat together on the couch, watching in silence. If it hadn’t been for the way Harry kept glancing up and grinning, Louis would have thought he had forgotten all about them.

When Jamie finally looked up, Louis sat up straight. He felt his mum patting his knee, and he ignored the uneasiness still making his fingers tingle.

“Daddy, we’re hungry,” Jamie said. He had changed into his regular specs about at the same time Louis had found him a paper pad to try his crayons on, so he looked a little less like a cyborg and more like his regular self.

“Hungry, huh?” Louis got up. “Both of you?”

Jamie nodded, looking up at Harry, “Aren’t you hungry, too, Papa?”

Louis wanted to clutch at his own chest, so full it felt as if it might burst. He was so greedy for the sight of his kid and Harry talking to each other that he almost didn’t realize that he was supposed to intervene here. One look at Harry’s suddenly pale face snapped him out if it.

“Papa has to have lunch here, bug. You remember the way he gets his food?”

“But he’s not sleeping anymore,” Jamie argued, a whine in his voice.

“Are you not off the feeding tube yet, sweetheart?” Louis mum asked, getting up as well and walking over to the perch with Harry’s IV bags hanging from it, inspecting them. “I don’t believe you need it, you only need to stay away from solids for a while.”

“I-” Harry looked down at Jamie for a second before looking away. Only then did Louis realize that Harry had probably asked Liam to take the tube off for Jamie’s sake, as if Jamie had ever known a version of Harry not hooked up to all sorts of tubes and wires. “I haven’t tried yet. No one’s mentioned, um, switching. Methods. So.”

“I’ll go find Liam,” Louis mum said, already walking away.

“Jay, I can ask him later,” Harry tried, but she only waved at them and disappeared out the door.

“Are we gonna have lunch now?” Jamie asked and Louis adjusted his glasses where they had gone crooked from lying his head on Harry’s chest.

“Are you being careful with your Papa? You haven’t tugged on any of those wires, have you?” Louis had a horrible vision of Jamie’s feet getting tangled up on Harry’s catheter and pulling. He almost put a hand over his own crotch, sympathy pain shooting down his stomach.

“He’s being very gentle, Lou. Very careful.” Harry said, smoothing a thumb over Jamie’s tiny shoulder. Louis should really be taking pictures. “You can go have lunch downstairs, I’ll wait here.”

“Can’t you come with us?” Jamie asked, twisting until he could sort of face Harry better, half on top of him. Louis’ hands twitched with the need to pluck him up and away from everything he could accidentally break.

“I still haven’t remembered how to walk, I’m afraid,” Harry told him gently. To Louis’ amazement, he placed one of his big hands on Jamie’s head and pet his hair - not a passing brush, but long strokes that his kid allowed without squirming.

“I can show you, it’s easy!” Jamie rolled off the bed, nearly braining himself before he remembered the bed was too tall. He caught himself and slipped to the floor carefully, avoiding the dinosaurs that had ended up spilled everywhere.

He ran to the middle of the room, checked that they were both looking at him, and walked in long, purposeful steps towards the door and then back.

“See? Now you try,” he told Harry, all his teeth on display.

When Harry laughed, it sounded wet.

“You’re very good at that, Jamie,” he said. “But I’m not quite strong right now, so I can’t-”

“Then you should eat lunch!”

“Yeah, I should, you’re right.” Just then, Louis’ mum came back to the room, followed by Liam. He was carrying a tray, and Louis wheeled the overbed table they were keeping next to the dresser closer to the bed before someone could ask him to.

Liam placed the tray on the table and pushed it so that the wheels slid under the bed and the top was close to Harry’s chest, who was staring at him with a wild edge around his eyes.

“Um,” he began, but Louis’ mum stepped closer, putting an arm around him in a half hug, and he closed his mouth in an uneasy smile.

“You know there’s no reason for you not to have a regular meal,” she said. Jamie walked closer, standing next to Louis and trying to peer up at the food. Louis picked him up and sat him on the edge of the mattress, across the table top from Harry.

“No solids just yet,” Liam piped in, winking at Jamie. “I might be able to find some ice cream later.” He gave Harry an apologetic look. “You should start a little lighter, though, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“That’s alright, but, um, are you sure I should,” he gestured at his tray. There was a covered bowl that Louis could tell was broth, a plastic cup of yogurt, and a bottle of water.

“Just go slow and call me if you feel queasy,” Liam told him as Louis’ mum nodded along, keeping Harry close. “But it should be fine, you got the all clear from Dr. Sheldon last night.”

“I did?”

“Yup.” Liam looked at Jamie, who was examining the yogurt cup as if he’d never seen one before. “I hear they’re serving meatballs and chips down in the cafeteria.”

Jamie bounced in place and looked up at Louis. “Can we?” he asked.

“Why don’t you go ahead with Granny and I’ll catch up? Order me some, yeah? Remember, please and thank you and Granny handles the money.”

Jamie started sliding down the bed but stopped, legs dangling.

“What about Papa? He can’t come.”

Louis opened his mouth to reply but Harry beat him to it, a light flush on his cheeks. “I’ll just eat here, it’s fine. Find some ice cream and I’ll wait for you for dessert.”

With a firm nod, Jamie dropped to the floor like a man on a mission. He followed Liam to the door, already asking where and how he’d get his snack, and Louis let him go and turned back to Harry. His mum was speaking softly to him, voice so low Louis couldn’t make out what she was saying. Harry was biting his lip and nodding along, hands restless on the table.

With one last squeeze, she kissed Harry’s temple and started towards the door. “We’ll see you downstairs, Louis.”

When she was gone, Louis took her place, pulling Harry against him and feeling him returning the hug, mindful of not pulling on his IV line.

“He’s wonderful,” he mumbled against Louis’ chest. “So wonderful, you’re- you did amazing, Lou.”

Louis felt tears prick his eyes and had to look up not to let them fall, slouching so that his chin was on the top of Harry’s head.

“I had a lot of help.”

“He looks just like you,” Harry said. He sounded almost in awe.

“Are you serious? He’s your spitting image, Haz. Did you see those dimples? I did not provide those.”

“Everything else, he’s just- I had to stop myself from squishing him and never let him go.”

“He’d have loved that, he’s quite cuddly,” Louis said, dropping a kiss on the crown of Harry’s head before tapping his shoulder to get him to look up. “What’s with you and lunch, then? Not hungry?”

Harry’s eyes looked green and huge looking up at him as he was, nose a little smushed against Louis’ chest.

“I didn’t want to, like, spit up in front of him,” he said, muffled by Louis’ jumper. “I haven’t eaten in five years, you know.”

“You’ve eaten.” Louis ran a hand through Harry’s hair, smiling at the way Harry’s eyes went heavy-lidded. “You just haven’t chewed your food in five years. Or longer, if we’re being honest.”

Harry pretended to bite him, making Louis laugh and move back.

“Not allowed to eat me,” Louis teased, the ‘yet’ on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back with some effort, even if Harry could see right through him, if his smirk and his pleased blush were anything to go by. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

Louis harrumphed and made himself busy uncovering the bowl on the tray and finding the spoon wrapped in plastic next to it.

“Here, I don’t care if you spit up, I’ve seen worse.” He handed Harry the spoon and pushed the table a little closer. The broth looked clear but smelled like beef. The scent made Louis’ stomach grumble quietly. While Harry had a staring contest with his food, Louis dug out his mobile from his pocket and texted his mum to please bring his food upstairs. Although he’d been eating meals in Harry’s room, that had only been when it was only the two of them. He was counting on Harry’s VIP status not to get scolded by a nurse who wasn’t Liam.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry put the spoon in the bowl and bring a sip of broth to his mouth. The groan he let out nearly caused Louis to drop his phone.

“This shouldn’t taste so good,” he said, already going for more.

“It’s your first meal in a while,” Louis reasoned. “Wait until you’re allowed ice cream.”

“Don’t make me think about it,” Harry whined. “I’ll end up asking Jamie for a bite and chucking it all up.”

“Lovely,” Louis said, but he was smiling.

Harry ate, slowly but with enthusiasm. Louis was sure some of those moans were for his benefit, but he could not think of anything other than the fact that this was another milestone. In one day, Harry had met Jamie and earned his trust and then eaten his first meal without having to slide it down a tube directly into his stomach.

Harry didn’t finish the bowl, but let the spoon clatter on the table halfway through and rested back against the pillows with a sigh and a smile.

“Don't let me fall asleep,” he said.

“Tired?”

Harry nodded. “Have to eat dessert with Jamie. And give him a kiss goodbye. You think he’ll let me?”

“Did you miss the way he was using you as an oversized cushion?”

“He’s a wee little thing,” Harry said, dreamy, staring up at the ceiling. “And he looks so cute in his kit. Does he play?”

“Every Saturday.” Louis picked up the bottle of water and a straw hiding under a paper napkin. “I reckon he’ll get more practice at summer camp soon. Thirsty?”

He nudged the tip of the straw to Harry’s lips and let him have a few sips before withdrawing.

“How long has he been wearing glasses?”

“About a year,” Louis said. “It was a big deal having him get used to them. He didn’t like having his hair touched and they used to pull, at first. There were some tears about it.”

Louis could still remember Jamie’s red, furious face very clearly, bawling his eyes out and hurling his specs across the room. At four, Jamie had a hard time explaining what was bothering him, and Louis had a hard time getting him to understand that he wouldn't fall over so much if he wore his bloody glasses.

“Can he see without them?” Harry looked worried and Louis allowed himself another moment of imagining how he would have handled the whole thing, if he’d been there for the meltdowns. Louis imagined him just as upset as Jamie, sans the expensive-glasses-throwing.

“He can see, he’s just nearsighted, like lots of other kids. He’s not even the only one in his class.”

Harry blinked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Well, they suit him. They match his outfit.”

“Favourite colour, remember?”

Harry nodded, hands on his belly under the table. Louis wheeled the thing out of the way so he could sit, and Harry shifted, attempting to make room on the mattress.

“Stay still, you, there’s enough room.”

“When d’you think I’ll be able to stand?” Harry asked as he slid a hand over Louis’ thigh. “Or like, sit in a wheelchair so I can have a look around. Jamie could sit on my lap.” He smiled to himself at the words before turning to look at Louis. “You could, too."

“Are you looking to get all banged up again?” Louis asked, the trembling of his hand on Harry’s betraying the real worry behind his teasing tone. “There’s no rush, you’ll be stomping around soon enough.”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna keep missing things. I want to kick a ball about with my kid before he gets too old and I start to annoy him.”

“Haz, he’s five,” Louis laughed.

“Yeah, I already lost five years. I don’t want to sit here and rot anymore.”

“Fuck, don’t say th-” Louis cut himself off and looked away, squeezing his fingers around Harry’s on his thigh. “I know how long it’s been. Please don’t...you’re not _rotting_ here. You’re healing. Alright?”

“Lou-”

“You should start with PT soon,” Louis said. “I bet after that it’ll only be a little while before you’re strong enough to waddle after Jamie, at least.”

“Waddle?” Harry sounded amused and Louis looked at him so to see him biting down a smile.

“It’ll be just like teaching a toddler to walk again, hopefully without the stubborn crying. And the nappies.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Harry whined, face going red. Louis had been around too long and for too much while Harry had been asleep. He’d seen things. He was over being embarrassed, but he loved how much it mortified Harry.

“You heard your kid, H, you better remember how to use the loo on your own soon. Don’t want to be shown up by a little boy, do you?”

“I haven’t forgotten how to use the loo,” Harry muttered, chin tucked to his chest. “And I don’t need nappies. Shut up.”

Louis grinned and leaned in to kiss his pout away, nibbling at Harry’s lips until he felt them curve up in a smile. Satisfied, he began to move away, but Harry stopped him with a hand on the back of his neck. He pushed closer, tilting his head and running a tentative tongue along the seam of Louis’ lips. The touch made Louis shiver, and he opened his mouth in a gasp, letting the kiss deepen in a way he hadn’t really allowed yet.

Harry kissed him like he had always done - big hands framing Louis’ face, tongue wet and not a little bit shy. Louis scooted closer, giving just as much as he got, mind pleasantly blank. Blood was rushing in his ears and he could feel Harry breathing through his nose, rubbing his thumbs along his cheekbones. Louis pushed closer, flattening Harry against the mattress carefully, palms flat on Harry’s chest where he could feel his heart pounding.

Nothing else felt as good as kissing Harry. Nothing. Louis could have drowned in this kiss, could have kept going until he passed out from lack of air, if Liam hadn’t burst into the room, smacking the door on the way in and making both Louis and Harry startle and break apart.

When Louis looked back, Liam had a hand over his face, flushed up to the tips of his ears.

“I’m so sorry, the- the heart monitor was going off, I’m sorry, I’ll leave you to, uh, to it.”

Harry’s bed shook with his giggles. Louis glanced at him, his pink cheeks and puffy lips, and felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest, even if he was a little disappointed no to be kissing him anymore.

“You know, me mum’s walked in on some embarrassing stuff working in hospitals,” he told Liam’s retreating form. “This is barely anything.”

“Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Tomlinson,” Liam said without taking his hand away from his face, and Louis laughed him out of the room.

A few minutes later, Louis’ mum returned, Jamie in tow and a styrofoam container with Louis’ food in her hands. Jamie held an ice lolly up over his head.

“Papa, look, I’ve got ice cream!” he announced, and Louis was happy to spend the rest of the afternoon watching Harry and Jamie eat their dessert and talk about football and dinosaurs until it was time to drive his mum and Jamie home.

By the time four P.M. rolled around, Jamie was dozing on Harry’s chest. Harry didn’t look all that alert either. Louis packed up Jamie’s presents and waited while his mum said goodbye, kissing Harry’s forehead and speaking into his ear until he gave her a sleepy smile.

Jamie swayed on his feet when Louis set him on the floor, accepting a careful kiss from Harry before he seemed to wake up, eyes and hair wild.

“What about Papa?” he asked as Louis herded him towards the door by the hand. “Is he going to sleep?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Papa’s tired.”

When Jamie started to cry, Louis was stunned. He’d been so good all day, he couldn’t think of a reason why he would start crying now, after the hard part was over.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked from the bed. “Lou?”

“Jamie, what’s the matter, bug?” Louis squatted down to be at eye level, his mum standing close to them. On his bed, Harry was sitting up on his elbows, looking concerned. Jamie rubbed at his eyes, nearly sending his glasses to the floor, chin scrunched up. “You’re tired, too, darling. Let’s go home and have a nap, how’s that sound?”

Jamie shook his head, little chest heaving. It was a lot quieter outside - Louis had seen most families filing out a while ago, and he was sure Jamie’s sobs were echoing down to the other rooms. Liam had now officially heard practically every member of Louis’ family cry, probably.

“Daddy,” Jamie mumbled, face flushed with tears. “No.”

“Alright. No, what?”

“Why is he going back to sleep? I don’t want to go, I want to stay over. I haven’t teached Papa how to walk yet.” Everything was said in a low blubbering voice, Jamie’s face tipped down, closed fists over his cheeks.  

“Your Papa’s only going to sleep for a little while,” Louis’ mum told Jamie, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and dabbing at Jamie’s face. “You’ll see him again soon, sweetheart.”

“When is soon? Tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Louis said, only to inspire a new bout of crying. “We have to check with Papa’s doctor. When people feel poorly, sometimes we can’t be around them too much or they won’t get better.”

“But I can help him feel better,” Jamie argued, all but stomping his foot on the floor.

“I know that, bug. Your visit made him very happy today.” Jamie blinked at Louis’ words, absorbing them as he sniffled. Louis glanced over at Harry only to see him staring back, eyes wet. This was yet another thing Jamie had inherited from him: they were both sympathetic criers. Louis had lived through countless meltdowns and tantrums, comforted his kid after nightmares and falls and vaccines, and there had not been a single time where he had not pictured Harry there, crying along with their kid because he couldn’t help it. Because watching someone so tiny and so sweet upset was heartbreaking, even if the reason was silly.

Louis had cried himself to sleep for a month after Jamie had been born. He’d forced himself to stop when he’d realized Jamie always cried along with him, that scandalized, shrill newborn cry, as if he was furious on Louis’ behalf. Furious that he’d been cheated out of the childhood he was supposed to have, the one that had been so lovingly planned.

Even at five, Jamie still got teary-eyed if Louis bumped his toe against a piece of furniture or something sad happened on one of his shows or films. He’d slept with Louis for a week after he’d seen _The Lion King_ for the first time. Louis had banned dead-parent movies from the house, and he had been left with a depressingly short list of options.

When they were teenagers, Louis had taken Harry to the cinema on one of their first dates. He’d chosen an artsy film he’d hoped would impress Harry but had instead reduced him to inconsolable tears. They’d left the theater early, and Louis had felt guilty for a long time before he caught Harry getting emotional over a dog kibble advert. Turned out it didn’t take much - Harry got emotional when he was sad, when he was cross, when he was tired and when he was hungry. He could cry from laughing too much or after a particularly strong orgasm.

Before Harry, Louis considered _himself_ sensitive. Before Jamie, Harry had been the only person he’d met who would get all sniffly over an injured pigeon they saw on the street.

Now, Harry was crying because their kid was crying. And Jamie would never agree to leave if he saw that his Papa was upset. So Louis did something he knew would get him smacked upside the head by his mum: he hoisted Jamie up in his arms and took him from the room.

Jamie was stunned for the time it took them to reach the lifts, before he started crying in earnest. Instead of squirming and trying to get away, he clung to Louis’ neck, thin legs wrapped around his waist, and sobbed into his neck, as if he needed comfort more than he needed to get his way. His mum looked disapproving, but followed them down and out onto the parking lot. Jamie was strapped into his booster seat and they were heading out before she spoke.

“You should bring Harry a phone.”

“What?” Louis had been expecting to be scolded, not advised. Jamie was still whimpering, but Louis knew he would be out like a light before they hit the motorway.

“Get him a mobile phone so he can talk to Jamie and they can see each other’s faces. You can’t bring a five-year-old to a hospital every day. _You_ shouldn’t even be staying there every day.”

“Mum-”

“I know it’s no use telling you, but I will. Jamie is going to need stability. It’s only been a few days, but he’ll start feeling your absence soon. Give Harry a phone so you can video chat, get Jamie to see that he’s not gone back to sleep for another five years.”

Of course that’s what Jamie was worried about. Louis hated himself for how unprepared he was to deal with everything that happened in the last four days. To his credit, though, he didn’t think there were many books that addressed his particular situation.

The silence in the car was slightly tense, and Louis was suddenly exhausted. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Harry.

“They liked each other, didn’t they?” he asked eventually. He was gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. Fuck, he hadn’t said goodbye to Harry.

“Of course they did,” his mum said, softly and with a gentleness that soothed Louis’ frayed nerves. “They love each other, even if they’ve only just officially met. I’ve got photos.”

“I was just thinking I hadn’t taken any,” Louis murmured.

“I know, darling. I’ll send them to you. Please have a nap before driving back, alright?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

.

The night after Harry’s accident, Louis had slept in the waiting area in the hospital, sitting up in a plastic chair, waiting for news. He’d only spoken to his mum and Anne, and they were both still on their way down from Manchester. He hadn’t even had the courage to tell Niall yet.

Close to midnight, two doctors had come out to tell him that Harry had made it out of surgery okay, and that he was still down, but should wake up soon.

They had taken him to a room where he could see Harry through a glass window, looking broken and small, and they had given him two plastic bags with Harry’s belongings.

Two days had gone by before Louis dared look through them.

One had his clothes, so bloody and gritty Louis couldn't look at them for long. He’d binned them, even if he knew Harry loved those trousers. There was only one shoe in the bag.

The other one had everything Harry had been carrying with him: sunnies (snapped in half), his rings (his wedding band speckled with red), house keys, wallet, loose change, a bakery receipt, and his mobile. There was only the smallest crack on the top of the screen, and when Louis had plugged it in, it had still worked. Harry’s password was their wedding date, because he was an absolute sap, and it had been two days and he still hadn’t woken up and Louis couldn’t bare to look at his lock screen, a photo of Harry and Louis’ younger siblings taken on Harry’s birthday, the three of them grinning with cake smeared on their faces.

He kept thinking back to their last conversation, short and hurried. Had he told Harry he loved him?

Louis had shoved the phone in a drawer and made himself forget about it, even if he never cancelled the service, and still paid for it every month along with his.

In the afternoon after Harry met Jamie for the first time, Louis put Jamie to bed and made his mum tea. He was itching to drive back to the hospital to make sure Harry was okay, but he trudged up to his room and lay down on his bed. He fell asleep thinking that, soon, Harry would be sleeping next to him again, on their bed, in their house, and this time it wasn’t a fantasy, but a fact. Had to be.

He woke up to the sound of his door inching open, and then the mattress dipped and Jamie was crawling into his bed with him, cuddling in close.

Louis put his arms around him with a happy sigh, chin on the top of Jamie’s head.

“I don’t want Papa to go back to sleep,” Jamie mumbled against Louis’ collarbone.

“Me neither,” Louis said. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know everything about Papa, remember?” Even as he said it, something in his chest twisted. This was not something he wanted to be lying about. This was something he wished for desperately but that was completely out of his control.

“Can we visit again tomorrow?” Jamie asked.

“We’ll see. You have school, though. Maybe after.”

Jamie curled in closer, whimpering.

“But you know what? You can talk to Papa tonight, to see that he’s still awake.”

“On the phone?”

“Yup, you can talk to him whenever you want.”

“Now?”

“I have to bring him his phone, so later tonight.”

A minute later, Jamie was asleep, the kind of boneless slumber Louis knew was due to the stress of the day. It was still light outside, and he had set an alarm for supper, so he pressed a kiss on Jamie’s hair before letting himself drift off.

.

Harry was squinting down at the book he’d found on his bedside table (he was sure Louis had brought it over, it looked familiar) when Louis came back. Trying to read for too long made his head hurt, but he had been pushing himself for fifteen minutes. When Louis walked into the room, Harry let out a relieved huff and rested the book on his belly, face down.

“How’s Jamie?” was the first thing he asked. He hated to think his first visit had ended in unhappy tears. Both Louis and Jamie had looked miserable when they left - Harry needed to know they were alright.

“He’s fine,” Louis said, coming closer until his thighs were pressed to the edge of the mattress and he was standing over Harry, a little frown on his face. “He had a nap and I left him eating chicken nuggets with my mum. What about you?”

“I had some more broth and plain yogurt.”

Louis snorted, his mouth twisting into a smile. “I meant how are you, you dolt.”

“M’okay.”

“I’m sorry we left like that.” Louis reached out and buried his hand in the short strands of Harry's hair. Harry leaned into the touch, his eyes growing heavier still.

“It’s okay, Jamie wanted to leave, you can’t force-”

“He _didn’t_ want to leave,” Louis corrected. “That's why he was upset.”

“Oh,” Harry said, warmth spreading all over him. “He liked me?”

Louis’ face smoothed out, his expression going soft even as he rolled his eyes. “Of course. He _is_ my kid, you know. He’s got taste.”

Harry laughed, his chest going tight, “Thank God.”

Jamie had been lovely. The way he spoke in that high voice that had made Harry want to cry for some reason, the way he gestured with his little hands. He’d been so gentle, sharing his crayons and praising Harry’s horribly shaky drawings. Harry had been able to see Louis all over him. He couldn’t wait for him to come back. He couldn’t wait to leave and go home to both of them.

“I brought you something,” Louis said, digging into one of his pockets. Harry held his hands out with a grin, bouncing a little for show. When Louis placed an old phone in his palms, he stopped.

“Oh,” he said again. He felt a little sluggish after eating and it took a moment for him to realize Louis had brought _his_ phone, still in its pink case. The screen was cracked in the corner. “Thanks, Lou. It still works?”

“We'll plug it in and see.” Louis held a charger up and Harry handed him his mobile back and watched as he moved the bedside table away from the wall and dropped to his knees to look for an outlet.

“There’s some on the wall.” Harry pointed over his head to where his monitors were connected.

“Yeah, I’d rather not touch anything up there,” Louis said before he made a little _a-ha_ sound. When he got up from the floor, his cheeks were flushed and his hair was sticking up a little. He looked like Jamie.

“Does it work?” Harry asked.

“It’ll need a second, Mr. Pushy.” Louis sat on the bed, holding the phone up so Harry could see the screen. It was black for a minute before a charging battery sign came on, and Harry cheered softly, putting his arms around Louis’ waist. “There. Now you can talk to Jamie before bedtime. He’ll ask for a story, just a warning.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said against the small of Louis’ back. “I tell good stories.”

“Sure you do.”

Harry pinched him.

Louis handed Harry his phone and went to set up his cot. When the battery was at two percent, the screen came alive, and a picture from his birthday (the last birthday he remembered) shone up at him. It made him smile, even if the two little kids in the photo didn’t really know him anymore. He typed in his passcode without thinking about it, and when the phone was unlocked, his eyes went straight to the little red number on his messages app.

1563.

He had 79 missed calls, more emails than he could comprehend and a neverending list of notifications for everything, from WhatsApp to Instagram to Facebook.

It was a little overwhelming.

“Mum hasn’t changed her number. You should call before Jamie’s asleep.”

Harry did, pointing the phone at his face and trying to find an angle that didn’t make him look quite so haggard. Jamie answered himself, and Harry got a good look up his nostrils before he righted the camera and the screen was filled with his lovely little face, eyes huge without his glasses, bright blue and familiar.

“Papa, the dinosaurs glow!”

Harry laughed, startled. “What?”

“The dinosaurs glow when I turn off the light!”

“Oh,” Harry recovered. “Yes, of course. They’re magic after all.”

“No, they’re not,” Jamie huffed.

“They are! They glow because I’m thinking about you.”

“Sap,” he heard Louis mutter, but when Harry looked over, Louis was smiling as he put sheets over his cot.

“Really?” Jamie asked.

“Yup.”

“Papa, can I visit tomorrow?”

“What did Lou- um, what did your dad say?”

“He said okay.”

“He’s a little fibber,” Louis laughed, and then raised his voice so Jamie could hear him, “I said maybe, sneaky boy.”

Jamie didn’t look worried about being caught. He gazed at Harry in silence for a moment, very serious.

“My Granny Anne is your mum,” he finally declared.

“That’s right.”

Jamie nodded to himself, as if he had needed to hear it from Harry. Maybe he had. Maybe he needed some sort of proof they belonged to each other.

“And your Aunt Gemma’s my sister.” Jamie’s eyes widened as if he had not thought of it before. “And your dad is my husband.” At Jamie’s frown, he added, “Like Granny Jay is married to Dan and they have Ernie and Doris and everyone.”

“Ernie’s my uncle!”

“That’s right,” Harry agreed. “And just like them, me and your dad are married and have you.” As he said it, he looked at his left ring finger, startlingly bare. The idea that his wedding band was lost filled him with sorrow. He hadn’t taken it off once since Louis had slipped it on on their wedding day, friends and family around them, Harry’s vision blurry with unshed tears.

“I know that,” Jamie said, but he sounded a bit in awe. “Can you come to school one day?”

“As soon as I remember how to, I’ll run there.”

Jamie smiled. A little while later, Harry told him a story about a little boy who was a football star and seemed to fly when he blocked goal after goal. Jamie stayed awake the entire time, and eventually, Jay stepped in and took the phone away. She blew Harry a kiss and Jamie did the same over her shoulder. Harry all but melted into the bed.

When he looked up, Louis was sitting on the couch across the room, a laptop on his knees. He caught Harry staring and winked at him.

“That was quite the story,” he said. “I liked it.”

“Told you my stories were good.” Harry fiddled with his phone, fingers hovering over the messages app. It seemed like a good place to start. “Are you working?”

“Just answering emails, I’ll be done in a second.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said and opened the app. Louis’ name was the first on the list. His last message was from last month.

Harry sent him a quick look before tapping his name. He saw a long list of messages slide down in a blur until his first unread message popped up. It was from March, five years ago.

_I promise there’s nothing to worry about, bet you dinner it’s just wind ;)_

_sorry love running late see u there in a bit_

_Are you there yet? Hannah can’t find you, call her_

_Harry call me_

_Theyre sayng your hurt call me_

_please_

_Answr your fkcig phon e_

Harry put the phone down, fingers trembling. Across the room, Louis was typing away on his computer, face bright with the light coming from the screen. He looked up when he sensed Harry watching.

“Alright?”

Harry nodded.

“Mum sent me some photos, want me to send them to you?”

“Yes, please.”

His mobile buzzed in his hand and when Harry lifted the screen again, a WhatsApp notification had popped up. Harry pressed on it, ignoring the rest of Louis’ old messages for the moment, and instead opened a photo of Jamie sitting by him earlier that day, draped over his chest, showing off one of the drawings they had worked on together. Jamie was looking ahead at the camera but Harry’s eyes were glued to him, expression absolutely besotted.

“Jesus, I feel I should’ve been wearing a bib.”

Louis laughed, “He looked at you the same way.”

Harry doubted it. He looked down at his hands.

“Lou,” he called and Louis hummed in reply. “Did I lose my wedding ring?”

“No? No, it’s right here.”

When Harry glanced up, Louis was holding his left hand in the air.

“That’s yours.”

“And yours. See?” He rolled his ring until it loosened enough to be slipped off, and only then did Harry notice Louis was wearing two bands, one on top of the other so that they looked like one thick, silver ring. “I didn’t want it to get lost.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked away tears, forbidding himself to cry. “Thank you.”

Louis put his laptop on the couch and got up. “I’m not sure you can wear it when you’re off getting put inside those machines of yours,” he said. “But you can wear it in the meantime.”

He took Harry’s hand and slid the ring on. It didn’t fit properly anymore, and yet it made Harry feel like he’d gotten back a little piece he hadn’t realized had been missing.

“It’s too big,” he said.

“You’re too skinny. We’ll fatten you up, don’t worry. Niall and Jamie make a brilliant lasagna.”

He leaned down and kissed Harry’s finger, lips soft over the warm metal.

“Lou,” Harry croaked. The sight of those old texts was branded behind his eyelids, Louis words sent to him and never read until now. “I’m...I’m sorry I got hurt.”

Louis’ eyes flashed, his expression flickering before settling back into an easy smile. Without letting go of Harry’s hand, he put one knee on the bed and very carefully climbed on.

He kissed Harry’s cheek before stretching out next to him, his leg curled over Harry’s shins and his head on Harry’s pillow.

“Lou-”

“Shh.” Louis wiggled in place, his hand holding Harry’s over Harry’s chest. “We’re sleeping.”

“We are?”

“I asked Niall to bring Jamie over tomorrow after school. Trust me, you want to rest.”

Harry smiled as he turned his face into Louis’ hair, the soft strands tickling his nose. His phone was wedged somewhere between them, with hundreds of messages from Louis waiting for him to read them. He made himself comfortable and felt Louis slotting against him a little better, as if they were figuring themselves out again. It had taken them a few tries, the first couple of times, back when finding moments to lie together was difficult, when Louis was Harry’s older, more mature maybe-boyfriend, when Gemma watched them so closely they hardly ever got to be alone together, not even innocently.

Harry ran hot and Louis was perpetually cold. Harry snored and Louis kicked. Harry was chipper in the mornings, and Louis needed at least an hour before Harry was allowed to talk to him without getting sneered at.

But soon they had found how to fit around each other, in a way that had been as comfortable as if they had been together for years.

Now, Harry felt them finding their way again. An elbow there and a hand here, holds loose but firm, pressing down a bit. Even with all the obstacles Louis had to avoid, he found just how to rest against Harry as if they were in their own bed, as if there were no wires to look out for.

He wasn’t tired after sleeping most of the afternoon while Louis had been gone, but Harry still felt himself fading. Ever since waking up, he’d felt something akin to vertigo every time he started to doze, the terrible certainty that, this time, he would not open his eyes again.

He tightened his grip around Louis and tried to clear his mind, let himself sleep. He would wake up in the morning. He would. He had promised Jamie he would remember how to walk again, to run for him, and that was exactly what he was going to do.


	3. Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last time, thank you [E](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polka_stripes/pseuds/polka_stripes) and [Chloe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelarry10/pseuds/lovelarry10) for being awesome. And thank you everyone for reading :)

Two weeks after Harry woke up, he managed to stand up for a whole twenty-two seconds by the side of his hospital bed. The floor was cold and he had to hold on to the mattress for dear life, since his legs felt like toothpicks about to snap under his weight. He counted the seconds through gritted teeth, one eye on the door - he was breaking the rules here, he didn’t want to get caught.

It hurt more than he had been expecting, and when he finally let himself sit back down, he struggled to catch his breath. The muscles in his legs were spasming and twitching, and Harry rubbed his hands over his thighs, too weak to massage them properly.

It would be worth it, he thought. Just imagining Louis’ face when he finally showed him some actual progress made him push his pain aside and brace himself to go again. 

He had started PT on his first Friday awake, and while he hadn’t been expecting to be put on a treadmill on the first day, each session so far had been frustrating and underwhelming. He stayed on his back the entire time and used his socked feet to push at his physical therapist's hands, he sat up and lifted small weights up to his chest until his arms shook. He stretched and twisted and sweated through his gown and all he’d managed until today was to sit in a wheelchair without it starting to hurt until two hours in.

It wasn’t enough. 

He was going mad, lying in a bed all day every day, entertaining himself looking out into the hallway and the few people that walked outside his door, picturing what Louis and Jamie were doing when they weren’t there with him. Jay, Lottie, and his mum visited often, and some of his friends had stopped by during his first weekend. They all looked so different, they had families he knew nothing about. Harry couldn’t keep up with their conversations, full of references he didn’t get, mentions of people he didn’t know. He was grateful for their visits, but he felt a little worse for wear after they left. 

The people at Louis’ office had sent him more flowers than could comfortably fit in his room and Harry had made friends with a few of the other patients on his floor by giving some of them away.

Niall stopped by every other day, cheering Harry up with stories about Louis and Jamie from the last five years. Happy stories, silly and safe. Harry was still not entirely himself - he would find himself near tears about the smallest things, especially if he was alone. It bothered him how everything seemed to go through a filter of ‘ _ Will this upset Harry? How much? Is it worth mentioning? _ ’ before being spoken out loud. But it was worse when he was caught off guard by something and got choked up, tears spilling out of his eyes without his permission and effectively ruining whatever conversation he was trying to have. 

During one of her visits, his mum had mentioned an older cousin of hers had passed away, and Harry had been inconsolable for hours. It was the first time Harry had heard of this cousin.

Dr. Sheldon told him it was okay to be sensitive, that he’d gone through a shock and he was still processing. When she made noises about Harry seeing a counselor, Louis agreed with her and encouraged it. Harry went with it, if only because he wanted to give Louis what little comfort he could.

He would have his first appointment in a few days, and part of him was wary. Harry hoped by then he had found a way to put everything into words. He couldn’t understand what was happening in his head most of the time. He was a mess of contradicting feelings: anger when he thought of what had happened to him, overwhelming happiness when he saw Jamie and Louis, feeling like he would burst with how much he loved them, bitter jealousy when he slipped and remembered what Louis had told him about the night Harry woke up, petty satisfaction when he gave flowers away and imagined that the bloke who had gotten to touch Louis had sent them. 

He didn’t even know the man’s name. 

He didn’t want to know. Except sometimes he did. He didn’t want to even think about it, except sometimes he wanted to know every detail, wanted the pain of knowing, wanted something valid to cry about.

When Harry was nineteen, Louis had broken up with him for a month. Later, it was something they rarely spoke about, but Louis always made a show of apologising and groveling all over again when they did, as he’d done after those terrible four weeks when Harry hadn’t been able to tell up from down.

“I want to marry you,” Louis had told him. “You’re not even twenty and I already want to take you away and, like, deprive you of- of-”

Harry was already in tears, standing in Louis’ dingy flat, holding a bag Louis had made up with all of Harry’s things. His toothbrush and face creams he kept in Louis’ bathroom, his clothes that he kept in Louis’ wardrobe, the little potted plant he’d gotten to liven up the place. 

“I want to marry you, too,” he’d said, feeling terribly small standing there in bare feet. It wasn’t even the first time they’d said it - they had been talking about getting married since before Harry was done with his A-levels.

“I know,” Louis had said in a shaky whisper. He was crying as much as Harry. “But I’m…you haven’t- You’ve only...dated one person.”

“You mean I’ve only shagged one person.”

Louis had looked away.

Two weeks later Harry had gone out and ended up in someone’s flat, in someone’s bed, and he’d hated every second of it. It was never awkward with Louis, not even their first time (which had included a busted lip and an ill-timed leg cramp and had been over too soon), even if by all means it should have been. Louis had that about him, that Louis thing where Harry always felt at his most comfortable around him, more like himself than he did with anyone else. Sex with him was fun and intense and  _ honest _ . 

Sex with the bloke who took him home, someone from one of his uni classes, not close enough to be a friend but not really a stranger either, had felt wrong. It had been stilted and a little embarrassing, and Harry had been angry the entire time, at himself for accepting the invitation, at Louis for putting him in the position to be able to. 

Later, still angry and feeling petty, he’d texted Louis about it and hoped it hurt him as much as it was hurting Harry. 

_ Can’t say I’ve only ever fucked you anymore _ .

It was cruel and Louis never replied, never really brought it up after they got back together, not even the times Harry tried to apologise.

Thinking about Louis sleeping with someone else brought every forgotten feeling back. Impotence and sadness and anger. The feeling of being wronged by a higher being, of not deserving what he got, of loss. At nineteen, losing Louis had felt like the end of the world. Ten years later and with half of that time scratched out of his life, Harry felt helpless with the knowledge that the world did not actually end with him and Louis apart. It had kept turning and people had kept going without him. 

He didn’t want to be left behind again.

Harry clenched his hands into fists over his thighs and took a deep breath. On his bedside table sat his old phone, a tiny time machine that gave him a glimpse of Louis while Harry had been gone. He’d only managed to go through a month worth of messages before he’d started to feel sick to his stomach. It had not been a good month for Louis, and only thinking about it made Harry want to do something, anything, to unburden him somehow. Even if the Louis who had written those messages was not the same that visited everyday and slept in a cot by his bed most nights.

Carefully and with more effort than it should have taken, Harry tensed his legs and pushed off his bed. Again, the cold floor met the soles of his feet and sent little pricks of pain to his toes, even through his socks. His knees wobbled and he swayed in place. His hips (shattered in the accident, now held together by enough metal to be stopped at an airport) hurt, his back (tender from lying down so long) twinged. He breathed slowly and counted - one Piccadilly, two Piccadilly, three Piccadilly. His entire body quaked. He bit his lip into his mouth and pushed through, muscles he didn’t know the name of burning with the effort.

He was reaching eleven Piccadillies when there was a knock on the door.

Harry’s head snapped towards the sound, his balance lost, and he only had time to see Liam’s wide eyes before his legs gave up on him and he went down in a heap. The sound of his head hitting the bedside table rang out around the room, louder even than Liam’s horrified “ _ Mr. Tomlinson! _ ”

.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Louis said for the tenth time, still shaking. He paced the room with his hands shoved up into his armpits, arms tight around himself. 

“I know,” Harry mumbled from the bed. Louis couldn’t even look at him, at the droplets of blood staining the neck of his hospital gown, or the way Liam was carefully stitching up his forehead.

“What were you  _ thinking _ ? That you could just take a stroll because you felt like it? Because that’s not how this works, you big bloody  _ oaf _ .” 

The old name fell out of Louis’ lips without thought, and Louis glanced at Harry just in time to see the words hit. He flinched, hands curled on his lap, and Louis’ anger fell away in a second. Harry didn't look like a big anything. He looked small and fragile, face too pale and eyes downcast. He’d never been particularly large, but he’d always been taller and broader than Louis, which made seeing him so skinny and drawn that much worse.

Louis sighed and ran a calming hand over his face. 

“‘m sorry,” Harry mumbled as Liam finished his stitches and patched up his work. Harry’s shoulders were starting to shake and Louis’ stomach dropped. He hadn’t meant to make him cry.

“Hey, now,” he said gently, walking closer. Liam moved aside but didn’t leave. Probably because now Harry would need a CT and they had to watch out for a concussion and fuck, Harry was such an idiot. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Harry sniffled. His hair had grown a bit, and it stuck out in every direction, still too short to manage. Louis curled an arm around Harry’s shoulders and buried his face in the soft strands, feeling Harry turn and hide his face in his neck. 

“Just scared me, that’s all,” Louis said softly. “I don’t like getting calls from the hospital. They’ve only given me good news once.”

“Twice,” Harry said against Louis’ skin.

Louis thought of Jamie and had to agree, even though he’d already been in the building when they’d rung him about Jamie being born, about all the rules regarding Hannah and the amount of contact they were supposed to have from then on. Louis had been too out of it at the time to consider that call good news.

“Has your doctor been in to scold you yet?” he asked, squeezing Harry closer. He felt Harry nod.

“I just wanna get out of here.” It was a whisper, said against his neck and making Louis shiver. Louis glanced at Liam and found that, as usual, the man was politely averting his gaze. “Wanna go home.”

“I know, love,” Louis said softly. “We want you home, too.”

At that, Harry looked up, eyes big and pink around the edges. 

“Is Jamie here?” Louis smiled and drew away, reaching to take Harry’s hand, the one that wasn’t tender from ripping his IV out when he fell. Louis had to suppress a shudder at the mental image. 

“He’s still at school,” he told Harry. “They’re rehearsing for his graduation recital.”

That made Harry smile weakly, eyes clearing a bit.

“Is he going to wear a tiny gown?”

“Yup.”

“And a tiny cap?”

“Yeah, he’s been practising throwing it in the air. He almost took out your mum’s cat yesterday.” 

Harry’s smile widened and he turned to Liam. When he spoke, his voice sounded thick with tears, his nose stuffy. 

“Will I be able to go, do you think?” he asked.

Liam snapped to attention at once, which proved once again that he always listened in on them, no matter what he claimed. Louis couldn’t blame him - there wasn’t any way to really block out their voices while in the same room lest he plugged his ears with his fingers and sang really loudly, like Jamie did when he didn’t want to take his bath.

Liam’s face scrunched up in an apologetic expression, and Harry’s shoulders slumped.

“What if I hadn’t just nearly cracked open my skull?” he asked, a bitter note in his voice, and Louis tensed. He hated when Harry spoke that way, putting unwanted pictures in his head. He really didn’t need to think about Harry cracking his skull open. 

“You really should speak with your doctor, Mr. Tomlinson. Harry.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Harry pouted. Louis wanted to roll his eyes at him, but who knew what could set him off again. 

They had talked about the crying the night before Dr. Sheldon recommended a counselor. The way Harry had put it, he had started to feel off a couple of days after waking up, after hearing Louis’ teary confession about Jordan and after meeting Jamie. It was as if it had taken a while for everything to fully sink in, and when it did, Harry had spiraled, fine one second and sobbing the next. He’d gotten teary one night because Louis had missed supper in the cafeteria and had settled with a bag of skittles and coffee from a vending machine.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Harry had said later, hushed in the dark of his hospital room, “It feels as if I’m crying because that’s all I can do, because I can’t, like get up and find you food and I can’t cook for you or order takeout or anything. I can’t take care of anything and it’s turning me all...ugly. It’s like I’m spoiled inside and it’s coming out like tears.” 

That had been another lovely image that had kept Louis awake. The counselor idea was suggested the following day.

“Jamie’ll be happy to recreate it for you here if you can’t attend, Haz,” Louis offered now, staring at Harry’s big green eyes, his pink nose, “and we’ll FaceTime during the whole thing.”

Harry fidgeted and sent a guilty look over at his phone. The crack on the corner of the screen looked bigger than before but Louis wasn’t surprised, considering Harry’s fall had sent it flying, along with one of his flower vases.

“It still works,” Louis reassured him. “We’ll get you a new one soon anyway. You’ll fry yours as soon as you update it.”

“I want this one,” Harry argued, stubborn. He’d been on his bloody phone almost as much as he used to ever since Louis had brought it to him. It was in his hands all the time, and his eyes were fixed on it every second Louis attention wasn’t fixed on him. It was nice that he had a distraction, and a way to communicate on the rare times when he was by himself, but Louis had the feeling most of his bad moods were set off by whatever he was doing when he was staring at the small screen.

Sometimes Louis worried that somehow Harry could read Louis’ old messages. But Harry’s phone had been dead when Louis had sent those, and he had deleted every single one as soon as he sent them. There was no way he could have gotten them, he was sure.

“You can keep that one, then,” he told Harry. “But no screen time today, what with the head wound and everything.”

Harry brought a hand up to the big plaster on his forehead. He winced when his fingers made contact and Louis leaned in and kissed his temple, the corner of his eye. He could never settle with one kiss.

“We should head down for the CT, Mr. Tomlinson,” Liam said, and then turned to Louis. “We’ll be back soon, it’ll be no longer than thirty minutes.”

“Are you leaving to fetch Jamie?” Harry asked. Louis had been planning on asking his mum to get Jamie and take him home, but Harry looked so hopeful Louis had to give in.

“I’ll bring him over for an hour or so.” Harry’s face lit up, making Louis feel lighter. “You better think of a story to tell him about that bump.”

“I will,” Harry said seriously. Louis moved aside so Liam could come closer to the bed with Harry’s wheelchair. With the press of a button, the bed lowered. Harry shuffled close to the edge and let Liam help him on the chair, blushing when his gown rode up, even if he was finally wearing pants again and Liam had already seen everything down there more times than either of them cared to count. 

Once Harry was ready to go, he turned to Louis, tilted his face up and pursed his lips for a kiss. Louis obliged, giving him two.

“Please, no more surprises while I’m gone,” he mumbled against Harry’s mouth.

“Not even good surprises?”

“Wait for me to be back.”

“‘kay.”

Liam wheeled him away and Louis let himself drop on the sofa. He was getting a headache and his heart hadn’t stopped pounding ever since the hospital had rang him earlier. Whoever it was had barely gotten four words out before Louis had disconnected and sped over, leaving his mum to pay for lunch in the restaurant they had been sitting in.

Just as he was thinking of texting her to let her know everything was fine, Harry’s phone pinged. It did that a lot - always had. Back in the day, they used to write each other constantly. It had been their main way of communication when they were apart. Since getting his mobile back, Harry had easily fallen back into the habit, but Louis preferred to call as often as he could. He still enjoyed Harry’s messages. Random thoughts and pictures of his room, his feet, his bored face when he was alone for too long.

Louis couldn’t wait to take him home.

.

Louis had heard all about Harry long before he met him in person. Gemma was an editor at their college’s student-run paper alongside him and one of her favourite topics of conversation when they were stuck at the copy desk was her weirdo brother and all his latest antics. Since Louis was all about gushing and complaining about younger siblings, they traded stories back and forth as they worked. It was a very effective bonding exercise. 

Two months in, the only two things Louis knew about Gemma were that she wanted to pursue journalism, like him, and that she was allergic to nuts. On the other hand, he knew Harry had asked for an extra bed in his room when he was four because he wanted all his stuffed animals to be comfortable. He knew Harry liked to sing and was a good student, and the only times he got in trouble at school was for bursting out laughing for no apparent reason during lessons. He knew Harry had a girlfriend but liked boys as well, and had come out to Gemma when he was twelve. Harry liked romantic comedies and wasn’t embarrassed when he ended up crying during the end credits. He was best friends with his mum, he worked part-time in a bakery and always smelled like fresh bread and sugar, and he ran into doors so often he always had bruises along his arms.

Harry sounded strange and funny and a little cute and when Gemma volunteered him to babysit Louis’ youngest sisters after school one day while Gemma and Louis finished a school assignment, Louis hesitated. 

“They don’t need a nanny, I’ll be in the house,” he argued, “and, no offense, but I don’t even know your brother.”

Gemma rolled her eyes. She was the only person Louis knew who rolled their eyes as often as he did. It was a bit annoying to have it directed at him.

“He’s harmless,” she said. “And he’s brilliant with kids.”

“He’s sixteen.”

“He’s an old soul.”

Something about the way Louis looked at her then made her choke on her mouthful of tea and she sprayed the pages on the table as she laughed, face bright pink. Louis agreed to have Harry over, if only because he’d be chortling about Gemma’s expression when she realized she’d had to print their work again for weeks to come.

That evening, Harry and Gemma arrived not ten minutes after one of the twins spilled milk all over his t-shirt. He hadn’t gotten to change out of the shirt and his joggers yet and it was starting to smell.

Gemma stepped into the house, arms loaded with placards and printouts, but her brother stayed out on the step leading up to the door. He was Louis’ height and ridiculously pretty. 

_ He has a girlfriend,  _ Louis thought instantly.  _ He’s Gemma’s brother. He’s sixteen. What kind of sixteen-year-old boy is this  _ pretty _?  _

Harry shook his hand, like they were businessmen in a meeting, and he introduced himself, as if (thanks to Gemma) Louis didn't know he’d wet the bed until he was five and blamed a dog they didn't own every single time.

“And he looked so smug, as if my mum was falling for it,” Gemma had said. Looking at him for the first time, Louis couldn’t imagine Harry’s face looking smug. Harry looked like he should always be smiling, full lips stretched over big teeth, dimples pushed into his cheeks.

The girls were wary of Harry, whose voice was surprisingly deep, but by the time Louis and Gemma went upstairs to work, he’d managed to charm them with bad jokes and the rows of colourful bracelets on his wrists.

Two hours later, Louis came back down to make tea. He could hear the telly from the sitting room and peeked in. Harry was sitting on their ratty old sofa, one girl on each side. Phoebe was painting the nails on his left hand and Daisy was clinging to his arm, eyes glued to the film. The three of them were wearing sparkly tiaras. Harry’s had a bridal veil sticking out of it. Louis knew for a fact how much the silly thing itched, but Harry looked far from uncomfortable. There were multicoloured hair ties tangled up in his curls.

“Your mum called,” he said, making Louis jump. His eyes were glittering with the light coming from the television. “She said the girls can have one biscuit each for dessert.”

“Which girls?”

“All of them, but the best ones go to these two princesses for keeping me company.”

_ He has a girlfriend _ , Louis reminded himself, a little desperately.

“I thought you were keeping  _ them _ company,” Louis said, arms crossed, hip cocked. He all but batted his eyelashes across the room.

_ Tone it down _ , he told himself,  _ he’s six-bloody-teen. _

Louis had changed out of his dirty clothes. The t-shirt he’d put on was so tight it rode up his stomach if he so much as breathed. He was embarrassing. Ridiculous. If Gemma caught him flirting with her younger brother he’d never live it down. 

“He’s our guest,” Daisy said.

At her words, Harry went pink and grinned over at Louis. Daisy was missing two front teeth and lisped, but somehow Harry in his tiara and purple nails managed to be cuter. Louis felt off-balance, his legs like jelly. 

Louis had fallen hard and fast, way too soon and  _ way _ before Harry. 

(“It only took me three months,” Harry argued every time Louis brought it up. 

“Well, it took me three minutes, so there,” Louis always shot back.) 

Harry would flirt shamelessly with everyone, aware of how charming he was. He was kind, silly, all of Louis’ sisters loved him and his stupid jokes, and he was the prettiest boy Louis had ever seen in person. When they finally kissed, not two months after meeting for the first time, Louis sighed in relief and felt a strange sort of pride fill his chest. Charming Harry wanted  _ him _ , and Louis wanted to gather him up close and keep him all to himself forever.

It was the same possessive feeling that made him hate the sight of too many people in Harry’s hospital room, hands on him that weren’t his. It was the same scary feeling that had forced him to push Harry away all those years before, and into the arms of some arsehole who’d had no right to touch what wasn’t his.

The thing about Harry was that he’d always been a lot. Every emotion Louis felt towards him was intensified, doubled in passion. Their fights were explosive, every fun thing they did was the best thing they’d ever done before, sex was beyond words, every touch electric, no matter how many times they did it, how long they were together.

After Harry’s accident, Louis was not himself for a long time. It wasn’t only that he felt like he’d lost part of his soul, it was also that Jamie was there, little and needy, and the amount of responsibility -the shock of reality his baby gave him every time he demanded something of him - reminded him over and over again that things were not supposed to be the way they were.

He started writing to Harry because he felt lonely and he was furious and so exhausted he could barely function. He wrote about mundane things, at first, stuff Harry was missing, like a thunderstorm or a new season of a series he liked. Then he told him about Jamie. And then he let everything pour out of him, venting as if he would have done if Harry had been in front of him, minus the touching, minus the warmth of someone standing close to him, minus Harry’s voice talking back.

.

_ hate u so mcuh _

The words blurred in front of Harry’s eyes and he rubbed the tears away before Louis could see. It was Monday - Jamie’s graduation was at the end of the week. He had been awake for over a month. That morning, Harry had managed to walk the amazing distance of one and a half meters during PT on the fifth floor. Every step had been agony, but Louis’ huge, watery grin when he’d seen the video had been worth it.

“Wish I could’ve been there,” he said. “We should talk to someone about Liam getting a raise.”

Since visitors weren’t allowed in that part of the hospital, Liam had recorded his little walk at Harry’s request, cheerfully encouraging as Harry’s physical therapist stood close by, arms aloft in case Harry tripped. Harry had held onto both banisters on the small platform so hard that the skin on his palms was rubbed raw but he hadn’t stumbled once.

“I could demonstrate,” Harry offered, looking away from his phone and forcing a smile onto his face. “I’ve done it once, I can go again anytime.”

Louis snorted, his eyes glued to his own phone, Liam’s voice coming out from the speakers, tiny and far away as he cheered Harry on. 

“I’ll have plenty of time later to see you walk all over the place.”

His trust made Harry feel warm all over, and for a second he forgot there was anything to be upset about. That is, until he looked back down at his phone and remembered.

Right.

The messages were from September the year of Harry’s accident. And while the mood had lightened up somehow compared to the ones from the first weeks, this particular batch of texts was gloomy. Judging by the amount of typos, Harry could guess Louis had been plastered. He wondered if baby Jamie had been with him and then wanted to kick himself for even entertaining the thought of Louis getting drunk around their then-five-month-old child. 

Harry read the texts, scrolling carefully, seeing each message slide up the screen, one by one.

_ Unplugd youo and evrYthtin and ur still here _

_ wont evr leav me wikl u _

_ hate you _

There was a break then, and the following message was from a few days later:  _ Jamie laughed today and he sounded just like you. Kinda scary coming from someone so small. _

Harry laughed to himself, even if his heart felt like it was breaking a little, the previous messages still there in sight.

Tomorrow was his first session with a counselor, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Louis had talked to someone, a professional who guided him and advised him during the last five years. He hoped he had, but Harry didn’t know how to ask without it turning into a conversation he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle yet. 

“Look at those noodles go,” Louis was saying, still smiling down at his phone, his eyes crinkling nearly shut. He had to have watched the video five times at least by then. Harry threw his own phone on the bedside table.

“Lou, come here,” he beckoned, stretching his arms and wiggling his fingers at him. Louis dropped his mobile on the sofa and walked over, happily settling in the space Harry made for him. He laid down, front to Harry’s side and burrowed in as close as he could. There were a lot fewer wires in the way now than there had been at the beginning, and it made it easier to curl his arms around Louis without tugging anything out of place.

“M’proud of you,” Louis mumbled against Harry’s chest. Harry was instantly filled with warmth. He buried his nose in Louis’ hair and got a whiff of his own shampoo from Louis’ shower in Harry’s bathroom earlier. They weren’t quite sure that was allowed, but Liam had yet to tell on them for bending the rules a bit. They really should get him something as a thank you.

“Proud of you, too,” Harry said, tightening his hold. 

“I didn’t do anything, love. This was all you.”

Harry wanted to argue but sleep started dragging him down. He wanted to tell Louis he was proud of him for so much more than Harry could take credit for. For going through everything he did and still coming out the other side just as wonderful and perfect as he’d always been. For being so much stronger than Harry could ever be. 

He wanted to tell him all those things and more, but he drifted off to sleep instead, melting against Louis’ body and feeling him breathe, perfectly in sync together. 

.

“Ni, you think my bum's still cute?” Harry asked, trying to turn to look behind himself but finding he still wasn’t flexible enough. 

“I dunno,” Niall laughed from the sofa. “You never had much of a bum to begin with, mate.”

“Hey,” Harry started to protest, but Louis spoke over him.

“You watch your mouth, he has a perfectly cute bum.” Harry beamed at him, hands gripping the bed railing. He’d been poised to make the trek to the bathroom for five minutes now, not quite brave enough to let go yet. Louis held on to his waist and let him take his time.

“But it's been squashed in this bed for years, I bet it's all flat now,” Harry said and Niall hummed, sounding amused.

“They rolled you over everyday, though,” he said. “And gave you massages and stuff.”

“Think they massaged my bum?”

“Only if they were looking to get sued,” Louis muttered and one of his hands slid down to pinch Harry’s arse through his joggers.

“Oi!” Niall snapped. “None of that while I’m in the room.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at him and took a breath.

“Ready?” Louis asked softly. “A little longer and you might wet yourself, love.”

“Shut up,” Harry told him. “That’s never happened.”

“Mmh.” Louis’ non-response told Harry something embarrassing had probably happened while he was asleep. Well. He could add it to the list.

He took an extra moment to ready himself and then let go with one hand, holding it up for Louis to take. Louis curled their fingers together, his other hand around Harry’s waist, and tugged gently.

“Come on, H.”

It was slow progress. He felt like a ninety-year-old with a bad hip. His steps were more like shuffles, and every movement was tentative. A wrong shift of his weight could make him buckle so he wasn’t taking any chances. 

Niall snickered from his perch on the sofa. Harry didn’t dare look at him, he was hyper-focused on the floor in front of him, eyebrows pulled together, every muscle tense. 

“Stuff it, Horan,” Louis warned, hands warm and gentle on Harry.

“Are you gonna help him in there, too, Tommo?” Niall teased and Harry’s cheeks burned. The thought of Louis’ hands around his dick, even in a completely non-sexual way, sent a little thrill down his belly. 

“If he needs me to,” Louis replied, rubbing at Harry’s hip and Harry loved him, so much, but he was not letting Louis help him piss. No way.

“My hands work, don’t they?” he told Niall, daring to send a small glare his way before looking back down at the floor and his slippered feet. Almost there. 

“All good, Haz?” Louis asked him. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

Harry shook his head. It didn’t hurt anymore, not with the amount of work he’d been doing at PT, but he felt feeble, fragile. Breakable. 

When they finally reached the bathroom, Louis went in with him and closed the door with a click. He spoke softly, presumably so that Niall wouldn’t hear from outside. 

“If you want, you could sit-” Harry cackled, high-pitched and embarrassed and beyond endeared. He wobbled on his feet and Louis tightened his grip around him. 

“Don’t need to sit,” he managed, voice hushed. “Just hold me upright, yeah?”

Louis held onto his hips, his face pressed against Harry’s back while Harry did his business. Odd as it was, it still felt romantic somehow. Louis teased him relentlessly whenever he had the chance, but he was still here, at Harry’s most vulnerable, holding him while he took a wee. Harry giggled, and although his hands were still shaky most of the time, he didn’t miss the toilet once.

“Did you two wash your hands?” Niall asked with a laugh when they made their way out. Louis flipped him off for both of them, since Harry still had trouble with his fine motor skills. He was working on it. 

“What are you even doing here?” Louis asked him, steering Harry back to his bed before Harry stopped him and motioned towards the sofa. Louis changed directions without blinking, thumb brushing over Harry’s hipbone back and forth. “Don’t you have a job?”

“Oh, so you can work from the comfort of your husband’s hospital room and I can’t?”

“You’re not working,” Harry told him, settling on the seat next to him with a sigh.

“And he’s not your husband.” Louis kissed the top of Harry’s head. 

“Maybe I’m here to steal him away,” Niall said. He reached out and took Harry’s hand, looking deep into his eyes. “What d’ya say, Harold? Tired of being a Tomlinson?”

Harry pretended to think about it, tilting his head to the side. He heard Louis let out an affronted squawk behind him and had to suppress a smile. 

“I’m not sure I’d be a good Horan,” he mused. 

“I wouldn’t make you take my name, though. That’s medieval, that is.”

“Hey, he  _ chose _ to change his name,” Louis said, sounding genuinely cross even though he knew Niall was teasing.

“You hear something?” Niall asked, frowning, and Harry laughed at Louis’ angry huff. “Where were we? Oh, yes. My proposal.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that. Move over, would you?” Louis pushed Niall further down the sofa and planted himself between them, arms crossed over his chest. 

Niall laughed at him, red-faced, poking a finger against his shoulder until Louis pushed him away. 

“Sure you want this old grump, H? He’s over thirty now, you know.” Niall said the last part in a loud stage whisper, grinning when Louis rolled his eyes and fell back against the back of the couch, leaning a little against Harry.

“And yet I’m the one who needs help going to the toilet,” Harry said. He lifted a hand and brushed Louis’ hair away from his eyes. His fringe was getting a bit longer. Louis’ eyelids fluttered, long eyelashes batting prettily and making warmth begin to pool in Harry’s belly. 

“I always promised I would, it’s just earlier than we thought,” Louis said, and Harry was already looking at his eyes when Louis turned to him, but it still made him shiver to have them pointed at him. “Promised to take care of you when you were a hundred and four and couldn’t even remember who I was, didn’t I?”

A lump formed in Harry’s throat and he nodded, biting his lips into his mouth to keep them from wobbling. 

“So there,” Louis said, turning to Niall, “he’s not going anywhere.”

It was Niall’s turn to roll his eyes, and he opened his mouth to say something else when he was cut off by a lilting melody coming from his phone. 

“Time to get going,” he announced, standing up. “Don't wanna be late.”

“Your phone’s charged, isn’t it, love?” Louis asked Harry. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

“You’ll come back after, right?” Harry let Louis pull him up to his feet. “Everyone?”

“We’ll make a party of it,” Louis promised.

“It  _ is _ a party.”

“A short party. I don’t want Liam to get in trouble.”

After another slow walk over, Harry sat up on his bed and let Louis arrange his pillows and his blanket. He checked that his phone was within reach and then watched, amused, as Louis shooed Niall away. 

“Let me say goodbye to Mr. Tomlinson, will ya?”

When they were left alone, he kissed Harry into the bed, licking into Harry’s mouth and making him groan. Harry’s tummy felt hot, arousal pulling at him when he felt Louis sliding hands into his hair. It had been happening more and more lately. Harry’s libido had been absent for weeks and weeks after waking up, but now it took little more than a look from Louis to leave him all fluttery and squirmy. 

Harry whined when Louis pulled away, feeling dazed. His mouth felt a little numb. He let Louis peck him on the lips one or six times before he straightened all the way up, his cheeks pink.

“Don’t like you thinking about leaving me for other men,” Louis said, voice hoarse. “Not even as a joke.”

Harry grinned, “I know.”

Louis scoffed and fixed his hair. He dropped the act and smiled a second later, digging a thumb into one of Harry’s dimples.

“I’ll see you later, cheeky boy.”

Harry pretended to bite him.

.

Harry’s waist felt small under Louis’ hands. Back in the car, Louis couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time he held Harry while he stood and did his little turns of the room Louis felt as if he was holding something fragile. He had filled out some, but Harry was still far from the same as he’d been before the accident. 

And while every step he took on his own brought them closer to the time he’d be allowed to go home, Louis couldn’t shake the phantom feeling in his palms. Harry’s waist felt small under his hands, his ribs a little too close to his skin, his hips not nearly as soft as they used to be.

“Light’s green,” Niall said, snapping Louis out of his thoughts and he started the car with a lurch. 

“Alright?”

“Just thinking,” Louis mumbled as he made the turn towards Jamie’s school. 

“About how pointless it is to have a graduation ceremony for a bunch of five-year-olds?”

Louis glared at Niall out of the corner of his eye. “Wait ‘til you’ve got one of your own and then tell me if you still think it’s pointless.”

In reality, Louis had never been a fan of preschool graduations. He had complained about every single one of his siblings’ (and still been the loudest in the audience, cheering like a madman when they went up to take their little fake diplomas) but Jamie’s was different. It was Harry’s first big event. It was Jamie’s passage to big boy school and big boy problems. It was the first time Louis could look ahead and see Harry there with him for everything that was coming.

“That’s not happening anytime soon,” Niall said. “I’m happy being Uncle Niall and handing then over to their parents when they’re fussy.”

“Okay then, Uncle Niall. Make sure you say nothing about your true feelings about graduations in front of Jamie or you definitely won’t be fathering any kids, even if you change your mind.”

“Ouch, Tommo.”

Louis’ phone pinged a few times from the cup holder. 

“Check that for me, please?” he asked, hands on the wheel.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you just threatened to do. What would your darling husband say?” Niall reached for the phone, unlocking it without having to be told the passcode, and then groaned. “I didn’t want to read that! Fuck, Louis, what did you do to him before we left?”

Louis threw his head back and laughed even as he felt his cheeks heat up.

“I can’t believe I forgot how disgusting you two are.”

“Jealous he’s not considering your proposal?”

“The only jealous prick in this car is you,” Niall muttered, though there was a smile in his voice. Louis couldn’t even deny it - he’d always been a jealous prick when it came to Harry. If Niall knew it, then he shouldn’t provoke him. 

He told him as much, and Niall scoffed.

“Gonna dip me eyes in bleach as soon as I get the chance.”

“Oh, come off it, Neil,” Louis laughed. “You’ve seen worse.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Louis had met Niall during his second year at uni, so he hadn’t been around when Louis and Harry had first started seeing each other and been attached at the hip as often as their schedules allowed it, whispering filthy things in each other’s ears in public, acting as if spending a day apart was the worst torture. 

Niall had moved into Louis’ flat after Louis’ previous flatmate had dropped out of school, and he first met Harry when he’d walked in on them having sex in the living room. It had been mortifying for everyone involved, but certainly worked to break the ice. By the end of that day, Niall and Harry became fast friends, teaming up to annoy Louis from the start. 

Weeks later, when Louis told Niall how long he and Harry had been together (a little over two years, an amount of time that had seemed monumental back then), Niall had been surprised.

“You’re so gross together I thought it was a new thing. Er, I mean that in a good way.”

Niall ended up walking in on them a thousand more times before he’d moved out, and yet he never learned to wait until he was told it was okay to enter after knocking. It had been his own fault every single time save for the first one. He  _ knew _ not to read their texts to each other, not even if Louis asked him to.

Jamie’s preschool was close to the house. Louis drove down his street and turned into the school’s parking lot in the span of five minutes. He found a space fairly quickly and had just turned the engine off when Niall’s mobile began ringing. He stepped out of the car with a wave, and Louis unlocked his seatbelt and let himself settle back for a moment. 

Jamie had been jittery with nerves that morning, all but vibrating out of his seat during breakfast. He’d asked Louis if he was going fifty times, if Granny Anne was going, if Uncle Niall was going, Granny Jay, Lottie, Papa.

“You know Papa can’t be there in person today, bug,” Louis had told him for what felt like the eleven hundredth time. “But he’ll be on my phone, and then we’ll visit him at the hospital afterwards.”

Jamie’s excitement had exhausted him. 

The parking lot was crowded, people milling about, some already heading towards the building. Louis’ mum had brought Jamie over earlier for his last rehearsal, and the rest of his family would be saving them seats in the auditorium already. 

Louis picked up his phone to call Harry and saw the messages he received earlier. He felt his face burn thinking about Niall reading them. Harry had always been shameless when it came to Louis and sex, and he was slowly picking up old habits. The week before he had turned on the charm while a poor, confused Liam kept sending Louis worried looks the entire time. Louis had wanted to kick him out of the room and pounce on Harry’s bed, which had probably been Harry’s goal, but it had been right after a PT session and Harry fell asleep mid-sentence.

They had done nothing more serious than snogging since Harry had woken up, and while Louis had gone five years without sex, having Harry awake and horny and sending him dirty texts was not helping him keep it together. He told himself he could wait until Harry was home and better, but Harry was proving to be quite difficult to resist.

Louis was about to press call and tell Harry off for being a tease when his phone started vibrating in his hand and Jordan’s name popped up on the screen.

It was like being doused in ice cold water. 

Louis’ hand jerked in surprise and a shudder went up his spine. For a second, he thought about ignoring the call - they hadn’t spoken since Louis had kicked him out, although Jordan had emailed after Louis had written the office about Harry. Louis had been too afraid to read beyond  _ Why didn’t you tell me? -  _ he deleted the email without a second thought.

He glanced outside and caught Niall staring at him with a worried frown on his face. Niall and Jordan were friends. Niall might even already know Jordan was calling. With a shaky sigh, Louis picked up.

“Hey.” His voice came out stronger than he had expected. On the other end of the line, Jordan was quiet for a moment, as if surprised Louis had answered at all.

“Hey, hi,” he eventually said, sounding flustered. “Um, how are you?”

“I’m well, you?” Fuck, he was already mucking this up. He couldn’t help but sound distant, and he cleared his throat in an effort to make his voice come out friendlier. 

“Good. I’m good, fine. How’s...how’s your husband?”

Louis winced, his throat constricting. He hadn’t cried about this since he’d told Harry all those weeks ago and he didn’t want to start again now. Jordan didn’t even sound angry. He sounded a little lost, and Louis knew he owed him an explanation now that the dust had settled somewhat. 

“He’s better,” he said tentatively. “Still in hospital, but he might come home soon.”

“That’s good, I’m...glad.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and Louis searched for something to say, a way to begin explaining, apologising. He came up blank. 

That night felt like a bad dream, fuzzy and confusing and filled with bad feelings. There was nothing positive he could think to say, other than being grateful Jordan had given him time before calling.  

“Jordan-”

“Niall explained,” Jordan cut him off. “I always thought he’d passed away.” Again, Louis winced. 

“It had started to feel like it, by then,” he said with some effort, the words getting a little stuck on the way out. “It- He was gone a long time.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about, about the way I treated you. That day. I wasn’t myself. I meant to call you before but I-”

“I understand,” Jordan said. “Well, I don’t but, you know, It’s okay.” It was Jordan’s turn to clear his throat. “Does he know?”

“Yeah, I- we’re not good with secrets.”

“Guess it’ll make company parties awkward, huh?” God, this whole conversation was awkward as hell, and yet Louis was huffing out a laugh. There was a reason he had said yes to Jordan in the first place, and his easy sense of humour had been mostly it. He was always laid back and Louis had always felt comfortable around him.

“Guess so,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“For the record,” Jordan added quietly, “I had a good time.” Louis blinked, surprised that Jordan was actually talking about it. “I had a massive crush on you for months. It took a while before you got the hint.”

“I, um, was not really looking,” Louis said, fiddling with his wedding band with his left thumb. He had to force himself not to let the statement come out like a question.

“Yeah, guess you weren’t.” Louis waited for him to go on, staring at the clock on his dashboard. Five minutes until showtime. Niall had probably already gone inside, since Louis couldn’t spot him anymore. “If you ever are, looking I mean, I-”

“I’m married,” Louis blurted out, shocked all over again.

“Y-yes, of course, I just meant, I mean, you were married before as well and-”

Feeling prickly all over, Louis sat up, back straight.

“That’s different,” he said firmly, managing to sound more certain than he felt. He hadn’t cheated. He hadn’t. “Why did you call me?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I know it’s different I just- I’m making a fool of myself, I know. Please, forget I said anything.”

“What happened was- It’s not happening again. I’m sorry for the way I handled it, to be honest that entire morning is still foggy in my mind, but I know I was a prick.”

“Louis-” 

“I’d rather if you didn’t call me again,” Louis went on, speaking over a anxious-sounding Jordan and trying to quell his own panic. He needed to end this conversation. “You can email me about work and that’s it. I’m sorry.”

“I, yes, okay, I’m sorry, too. Shit.”

Louis took a breath. “I have to go now.”

“Okay.” Jordan sounded embarrassed and honestly, Louis was embarrassed on his behalf. This was not the conversation he had been expecting.

“Okay,” he said. “Um, bye.”

“Bye, Louis.”

Louis disconnected and let his forehead hit the steering wheel. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” he muttered out loud. 

His mobile buzzed and for a moment, Louis though Jordan was calling again. But all he saw when he checked the screen was a long string of question marks from Niall.

Louis entered the auditorium in a bit of a daze. He caught sight of his family in one of the middle rows almost immediately and he stepped over slightly annoyed parents and grandparents to get to his seat. Niall was on his phone, earbuds in.

“Okay, you can relax, here he is,” he was saying, and Louis sat down and took the phone from him, earbuds and all. 

“Where were you? You nearly missed it,” Harry’s voice came through, hushed as if he were actually in the theater. Louis had to smile, forcing Jordan out of his mind for the moment. “Point the camera up, please, Lou.”

Louis pointed the camera at the small stage, the curtain decorated with colourful letters. Harry was quiet, and the camera on his side seemed to be turned off. 

“You there? I can’t see you.”

“You should be worried about seeing Jamie, not me.”

Louis wanted to see Harry watching Jamie get his fake diploma, but he kept his mouth shut. A moment later, the lights dimmed and a hush fell around the room.

“Wish I could be there,” Harry whispered in Louis’ ear.

“You are,” Louis mumbled back, and settled in for the show.

.

_ big 3-0 today for me ! _

_ Rmebmer when we thoutg we d have 3 jamies by now _

_ Good times _

.  

Jamie in his little red gown and his little red cap was even cuter in person. He strutted into Harry’s room with his chin held up proudly, and Harry clapped and cheered until Jamie got embarrassed and ran to him head first, knocking the wind out him.

He’d asked Liam to help him into his chair after the ceremony was over, and he’d been making laps up and down the hallway ever since. His arms burned with the strain, but not enough to stop him from picking Jamie up and giving him a good cuddle.

“How does it feel to be a proper big boy?” he asked, setting Jamie on his knees. His cap had gone askew after barreling into him, and his cheeks were all lit up. 

“Good! I threw my cap up and it touched the ceiling!”

“The  _ ceiling _ ?” Harry gasped. “You must be really strong then.”

“Uh-huh, I can pick Daddy up, wanna see?”

“No, no picking Daddy up, please,” Louis said from the door, where the rest of their family was trickling in. Jamie had probably raced from the lift. 

Jamie didn’t seem bothered by Louis’ refusal. He bounced a little in Harry’s lap, all smiles and sweaty hair sticking to his temples. 

“Are you warm, darling? Shall we take this off?” He reached out to take Jamie’s cap but Jamie shook his head, pulling the cap so far down his head that his glasses got knocked down. 

“No! It’s still today!”

“He’s been wearing it all day, Haz. Graduation day,” Louis explained. Harry nodded in understanding, catching Jamie peeking at him from under the brim of his hat. 

“It’s a very special day,” he said, and Jamie nodded. “Special days require special outfits.”

“It’s red cuz it’s my favourite colour  _ and _ my class colour.”

“That’s lucky, that your class colour’s your favourite, right?”

Jamie nodded with a smile that made his dimples pop. Harry picked up the small specs and pretended to inspect them for damages, turning then this way and that before nodding and carefully putting them back on the boy. Jamie blinked behind the glasses, clutching at Harry’s jumper (actually Harry’s this time, not Louis’, familiar and well-worn) not to lose his balance.

“You saw me on Daddy’s phone?”

“I did, you looked very smart.”

“Yes.”

Harry heard laughter and was brought out of his Jamie bubble. He looked around and was startled by the amount of people in his room. It was the first time it was this crowded, and Harry basked in it. He loved having the people he loved around him, it was one of the reasons him and Louis had picked a big house back in the day. 

His mum and Robin were there, Jay, Lottie, and Fizzy, who had made the trip down from Doncaster a few days before. Niall, Louis, and Jamie, who was the smallest but seemed to take up the most space. Harry caught Louis’ eye. Louis winked at him as he placed a cardboard box on top of the dresser before Jamie was grabbing at Harry’s face and pulling it down.

“Papa, you’re not listening,” he scolded him. His little frown reminded him of Louis. 

“M’sorry, bug. What were you saying?”

Jamie stared at him, hands still on his cheeks. 

“That’s what Daddy calls me,” he said. 

“Should I not call you that?” he asked, suddenly unsure. So far, Jamie had been lovely. Every visit and every call had gone without a glitch. They got along, laughed at each other’s silly jokes, spent time drawing and telling stories. The only time something had seemed to bother Jamie was the first time he saw him and Louis kissing. 

Although kissing was a bit of an exaggeration, as Louis had merely pressed his lips against Harry’s to stop him from laughing at Louis about something, pecking him once and not lingering even for a moment, and when they’d looked up, Jamie had been staring. His little face had been serious, but he hadn’t asked, and shortly after, Louis had taken him home. That had been weeks ago.

“‘Cause I can call you other things,” Harry went on when Jamie didn’t answer. “Poppet. Bunny. Sugar Plum?  _ Mr _ .  _ James _ now that you’re all grown up?” 

Jamie giggled, shaking his head ‘no’ at every suggestion. His eyes turned to slits when he laughed, his little nose wrinkled. Someday Harry was going to stop cataloguing every little thing about his kid, but it was not happening anytime soon. 

“What’s this negotiation happening over here?” Louis asked, coming closer and tickling Jamie’s side. His wriggling was hard on Harry’s thighs, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. “This is supposed to be a party, yeah? Everyone should get a chance to speak with the man of the hour.”

Louis lifted Jamie off of him and Harry hated that he felt relieved, his legs relaxing, free of Jamie’s weight. The smile Louis sent him as he carried Jamie over to the other side of the room was private, and Harry remembered the way they had kissed earlier that day and felt a little warm under the collar.

The box Louis had brought in turned out to be a cake, and even Liam ended up with a piece, which he accepted as he spluttered and went red in the face and promised to eat during his break.

By the time it was time for everyone to leave, Harry was back in bed, an unconscious Jamie draped over his front and breathing against his neck. He had agreed to take the cap off, but his gown was still around his little shoulders like a cape. 

“Can you stay a little longer?” Harry asked Louis quietly while their family gathered their things. Louis nodded, running a hand down Jamie’s back before leaning down to kiss Harry’s cheek. 

“Could watch you two forever,” he whispered against Harry’s skin. It was the same way Harry felt when he watched Louis and Jamie interacting - like he could sit back and never take his eyes off of them. 

Everyone called their goodbyes in soft voices, waving from the door and promising to visit again soon. Hopefully, Harry would be out of there even sooner. 

When they were alone, he shifted enough to be able to sit up without waking Jamie. Louis stood close by, fingers visibly twitching to help but giving Harry space. 

“Guess what,” Harry said once he was settled. Jamie’s cheek was resting against his shoulder, small arms around Harry’s neck. 

“What?”

“No, you have to guess.” Harry grinned at Louis’ exasperated expression, cheeks ballooning before letting out a long breath.

“Are you serious, Haz? Not even a hint?”

“Well,” Harry pretended to consider it, “I guess I can help, if I must.”

“Please, do.”

“It’s something to do with me,” he said, trailing off until Louis rolled his eyes, “and my living arrangements.”

Louis seemed to freeze before a huge smile broke across his face. It made him look like he was glowing, Harry almost wanted to shield his eyes, except he didn’t want to miss a second of it.

“Really?” 

Harry nodded, holding Jamie closer.

“How soon?”

“A week from today, Dr. Sheldon said.”

Without warning, Louis lunged forward. He grabbed Harry’s face a peppered kisses all over it, catching a few of the stray tears Harry hadn’t managed to hold back. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait,” Louis was saying as his fingers raked through Harry’s hair. Jamie didn’t even stir. “Want you home so bad.”

“Yeah,” Harry choked out. 

Dr. Sheldon had come deliver the news almost as soon as Louis and Niall had left before Jamie’s ceremony. It had taken inhuman self-restraint not to blurt it out until now, but he’d wanted to share the news while they were alone.

“I’ll still have to come here for PT and Dr. Puram said she’d meet with me at her office in Kensington from now on. And Dr. Sheldon wants to do a lot of tests, and I can’t drive yet, so-”

“I’ll take you anywhere you need to go, love. Don’t stress about that.”

“I don’t want you to miss out on Jamie’s summer.” 

“I won’t, we’ll work it out,” Louis said, leaning in to catch Harry’s mouth in a proper kiss. Harry responded as best he could with Jamie weighing him down, sneaking a hand to the back of Louis’ neck and squeezing. 

“Lou,” he said after a moment, speaking against Louis’ lips. 

“Yeah.”

“Does Jamie know I’m coming home?”

Louis pulled away with his eyebrows pulled together and one side of his mouth pulled up in a smirk.

“Well, seeing as you only told me a minute ago and he’s drooling on your shoulder, I don’t think he’s aware of it yet, no.”

“I  _ mean _ ,” Harry clarified, pulling on the short hair on the back of Louis’ head, “does he know I’ll go home eventually. That I live- That I’m supposed to live there.”

Jamie had only known Harry either asleep or in hospital. Harry didn’t think he thought it was strange or temporary. He was almost sure Jamie had never stopped to think that, when Harry could move more freely, there would be no reason for him to live somewhere else.

Louis pulled further back, now looking contemplative. He sat on the edge of the mattress and let his hand fall on Harry’s thigh absently. 

“We haven’t talked about it, but I’m sure he knows. How can he not?”

“He’s five,” Harry said. “I don’t think he’s going to know unless someone tells him.”

“Okay, we’ll wait until he wakes up and we’ll tell him. He’ll be thrilled.”

Harry wasn’t so sure.

“Lou,” he began, unsure of how to put it, “he’s not going to want to share you.”

Louis’ eyebrows went up, body rearing back slightly in surprise. 

“How do you mean?” he asked with a laugh. 

“He might like the  _ idea _ of me living with him, but he…” Jamie had never really had two parents until now. He’d had Louis all to himself his entire life, and he’d had only Louis to teach him, discipline him, set boundaries. So far Harry had never had to scold Jamie, but he wasn’t naive. He would have to raise his voice eventually, and stand at his full height. Jamie’s love felt fragile, still. Harry was practically a stranger. A stranger that would suddenly live in his house, touch his things, hoard his father’s attention. He would hate it.

“Harry, he’s five,” Louis repeated his words back to him. “We’ll explain and he’ll like it, or he won’t. Either way, we’ll all have to get used to it, won’t we?”

“I’m not sure-”

“He loves you. He’s loved you his whole life and he’ll love you even if he has to share.” Louis curled his hand around Harry’s knee. “It’s your house. You chose it, you fixed it up as much as you could, and you barely got to live in it. It was never really home without you there, Harry. You know that.”

Great, now Harry was crying in earnest. It was different than the sort of crying that had felt like it was ripping his throat open, the sort of crying Dr. Puram had helped him sort through. He was crying now because his chest felt too full in the best way possible. 

He closed a fist on the front of Louis’ shirt and pulled him in, kissing him again until his face was wet with Harry’s tears. His other arm was going numb under Jamie’s weight but he didn’t care. Louis made him feel like he could move mountains, always had. 

Going through his phone, among the old messages, Harry had found endless praise. It was as if Louis couldn’t help himself, he had to be supportive even if Harry couldn’t hear it. 

_ You look really good w your hair cut short. _

_ Did you know that your nails look nice coated in blue? Jamie likes red better but he’s biased _

_ I think ur everyone’s favourite here, even if no one will say it. Can’t blame em _

_ You dont snore anymore. I miss it _

Dr. Puram had told him to focus on the positive messages, if he wasn’t going to stop reading them. It helped, not only because they sounded more like Louis, but because for every sad one, there were at least ten that radiated warmth. Either Louis being sweet, or a joke, or a tale about someone they knew, a new word Jamie learned, or the time he’d crawled into a cupboard and somehow closed the door on himself and fell asleep and Louis nearly called the police when he couldn’t find him. 

Harry would have torn the house down, and he knew Louis had felt similarly, but he also came across as fond and strangely proud of his kid, pulling pranks before he could walk. 

Harry hadn’t gone through all the messages yet, instead choosing to send and receive new ones, bombarding Louis’ mobile even if they were in the same room, chatting with Dan and the rest of the kids, who had yet to come down to see him. 

Harry suspected Louis had something to do with that, but hadn’t bothered to ask. He’d see them soon. 

The messages were a greater temptation when he had nothing to do, so he made sure to keep himself busy as often as possible. 

When he couldn't sleep, he called Gemma, who was the only one awake enough to have a proper conversation with, and they practised their American accents on each other, sometimes making Harry laugh so hard a nurse would have to come and shush him.

A few minutes later, when Louis broke the kiss, Harry opened his eyes to see his pupils blown wide, a thin blue ring around them. Harry’s chin felt raw with stubble burn, and he was sure the skin around his mouth was bright pink. 

“This is not appropriate behaviour,” Louis breathed, smiling. “There’s a little boy in the room.”

God, Harry couldn’t wait for  _ their _ room,  _ their _ bed, the lock on  _ their  _ door. He let go of Louis’ shirt and let his head hit his pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. Jamie shifted, rubbing his face on his shoulder before turning until his little nose was pressing against Harry’s throat and okay, now Harry was distracted. 

“Should we let him sleep long? He won’t want to go down later,” he said, trying to maneuver Jamie into a more comfortable position. 

“The later he goes to sleep, the later he’ll wake up tomorrow. Camp isn’t for a few weeks, mum is going back to Donny soon, and then you’ll be home. I’ll need all the rest I can get.”

“Your mum’s not staying?” Harry asked.

“She wanted to, back when you first woke up. But you’re so much better now, H. She’ll come down if we need her. Plus, your mum is here to lend us a hand.”

Harry nodded. He did feel stronger, infinitely so. And part of him had wanted some alone time with his boys anyway, some time to adjust.

“I don’t think I can do stairs yet,” he said.

“I’ll set up the study, or the den.”

“And I’ll need a bench in the shower.”

Louis snorted out a laugh, doing a poor attempt of covering it up with his fist.

“I can do that,” he said. “My gran used to have a chair in her shower.”

Harry glared at him, “So glad that I remind of your gran, Lou. Your naked nan, cheers.”

Louis laughed, not bothering to try to smother it this time. 

“I can always forgo the bench and help you out meself,” he said. His eyes were practically glittering with mirth and Harry wanted him like this all the time for the rest of their lives.

“That didn’t work even when I could stand on my own.” Their attempts at showering together had resulted in sprained wrists and ripped shower curtains and an embarrassing (and painful) accident with a spigot, once.

“There’s always baths,” Louis offered.

“The bathtub’s upstairs.”

“Well,” Louis huffed, “guess that’s enough incentive to work these back into shape.” He dug his fingers high on Harry’s thigh and Harry barely held back a surprised yelp.

“Get your paws away from there, I’m holding your  _ child _ .”

Louis withdrew, both palms up and smirk intact. Jamie was still asleep, and Harry’s shoulder was starting to feel damp with either drool or sweat, he wasn’t sure. 

“He doesn’t like me kissing you, does he?” Louis asked after a moment. Harry startled - he didn't know Louis had noticed Jamie’s look that one time. “He asked me about it,” Louis clarified at Harry’s look.

“ _ When _ ? You didn’t say anything.” 

Louis shrugged, “A few days ago.”

“What did he ask, exactly?”

“He asked why I kissed you.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I love you and you’re my husband and I’m allowed,” Louis said, pinching Harry’s nose and wiggling it, “as long as you let me.” 

Harry tried to shake himself free without jostling Jamie too much. Louis released him with a pat. “What did he say?”

“He said it was weird and not to do it anymore.”

Harry grimaced. Jamie wouldn’t think it was weird if Harry’d been there from the start. Jamie would be used to it.

“Hey, he thinks most things are weird, it’s fine.” Louis put a hand on Jamie’s back. “It’d be weird if he  _ didn’t _ think it was weird.”

Harry laughed, somehow managing not to burst into tears. He really was doing better.

“We’ll just have to kiss loads until he doesn’t care anymore,” Louis proposed.

“No, that sounds...wrong, I don’t know.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “Fine, we’ll never kiss again because our five-year-old thinks it’s yucky.”

Again, Harry laughed, and this time he managed to accidentally shake Jamie awake. He lifted his head, lips pursed in a pout and creases on his cheek from lying against Harry’s jumper. He blinked and looked around at the empty room, kneeling on Harry’s lap, arms still around Harry’s neck. Once his survey of the room was over, he rested his head back down, this time under Harry’s chin. Harry couldn’t see him properly, but he could see Louis making silly faces and feel Jamie giggling against him. 

“Guess what, bug?” Louis asked a couple of minutes later, when it was clear Jamie was not going back to sleep. Louis sent a quick look Harry’s way and he nodded, steeling himself for Jamie’s reaction. 

“More presents?” Jamie asked.

“It is a bit like a present. Papa just told me that he can leave here soon.”

“Where’s he going?”

“He’s coming home with us, of course. That’s where all his things are. You know I used to live with Papa before you came along, don’t you?”

Jamie was quiet for a moment before he wiggled enough to be able to look up at Harry.

“Is it true?”

Louis made a protesting noise, but Jamie didn’t acknowledge it. He gazed up at Harry, bright blue eyes fixed on his, and waited for an answer.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Harry rasped out, so nervous all of a sudden that his throat had gone dry. “I hope I remember my way around. You could show me where everything is.”

Jamie grinned and jumped up to hug him around the neck, nearly choking him. Louis’ face was smug when Harry looked at him, hugging Jamie back. Harry stuck his tongue out at him and enjoyed Jamie’s good disposition while it lasted - he still wasn’t buying that it would be this simple, but he was happy to pretend.

.

On the day Harry was due home, Louis drove to the hospital by himself. They had packed their bags the night before, and Harry had ended up kicking Louis out when neither of them could sleep, too anxious to turn their brains off. They were feeding off of each other’s nerves, and Louis left at midnight with their things only to come back the following day before eight in the morning, not having managed to sleep a wink.

Harry was waiting for him in the wheelchair that he was supposed to ride out of the hospital, fingers restless in his lap. He was wearing a pair of Louis’ joggers, his bony ankles were on display. His feet were pigeon toed on the stirrups. Louis had to talk himself out of jumping in his lap in front of Liam and Dr. Sheldon. He also realized that he’d forgotten to bring Harry proper shoes, and he would have to leave in his slippers, like the old man he always secretly had been.

Dr. Sheldon shook Louis’ hand and Liam accepted tight hugs, first from Louis and then from Harry, who went as far as smacking a loud kiss on his forehead. 

“Thank you for everything,” Harry told him, hands on his shoulder so Liam was forced to bend at the waist nearly in half. “I’m sorry for crying on you so often. And for asking for too many things. And for ruining your scrubs that one time.”

Liam laughed, cheeks going pink. 

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said, before his face screwed up in embarrassment, turning a deep red. “I mean-”

But Harry was already cackling over whatever hasty amendment Liam was trying to make.

“Haz, you know you’ll see him in a few days, there’s no need to say goodbye,” Louis said, although he was going to miss Liam. Harry had spent nearly eight weeks in hospital, and Liam had been a steady presence throughout. Louis had always felt better the times he couldn’t be there knowing that Liam would be around.

“But I won’t be his VIP anymore, Lou,” Harry explained. “I’ll just be another random person passing through. Maybe he’ll pretend he doesn’t know me.”

“He knows you more than I’d like, love. More than he probably ever wanted to.”

This time both Harry and Liam went red, only Harry laughed delightedly and Liam looked like he didn't know where to hide.

In addition to Louis’ joggers, Harry was wearing a thick jumper and an old beanie Louis didn’t remember whom it had originally belonged to pulled down to cover his ears. At 23C, it was toasty outside, with a threat of rain only for the afternoon and even a hint of sunlight peeking behind the clouds. Harry would start sweating as soon as they were outside, but they had strict orders to keep him bundled up and indoors for the time being, along with instructions for a complicated cocktail of medicines that Louis had already picked up and locked in his bathroom at home, away from prying little hands. 

He was glad his mum had decided to stay an extra day, if only to have someone who knew what they were doing oversee Harry’s move. 

Every time Louis remembered that this was actually happening to him, to  _ them _ , he had to stop and let it sink in all over again.

They let Louis push the chair into the lift and down the corridor, his heart beating faster and faster the closer to the exit they got until they were past the reception desks and the doors were sliding open with a soft woosh and Louis was stepping out into the street. Outside, with Harry, who was awake and going home with him. Finally.

“Jesus,” he whispered, wiping at his face and the wetness on his cheeks. “Shit.”

Harry had his head bowed, forehead on his palm and elbow on the chair’s armrest. Louis didn’t need to look to know that he was crying as well, and at this point, it was difficult to imagine them taking a step forward in any direction from here without weeping the whole way there. 

“Feeling up for a walk to the car? Or should I bring it over?”

Harry actually seemed to consider it before answering, which was evidence of his still present nerves. Louis squeezed his shoulders from behind him, looking out at the parking lot and the buildings beyond and trying to imagine what Harry saw. Were there any noticeable changes since the last time Harry had stood on this spot? What about their neighbourhood? The rest of the city?

“How far’s the car?” Harry asked eventually, his voice catching. 

“Just over there.” Louis pointed at their black SUV, a few meters or so away. It was the same car Harry knew, same scratch on the side from a stray supermarket trolley, same  _ Hard Rock Cafe _ sticker on the back windshield. 

“I can walk,” Harry said before wiping his face dry with his sleeve and bracing both hands on either armrest. Louis hurried to click on the brakes before Harry managed to send the chair rolling backwards. He squatted in front of Harry to move the stirrups aside and remembered the slippers. They were thin and already well worn by Harry, Louis and even Jamie, who had not bothered to take his trainers off to wear them the few times he’d wanted to play at being a hospital patient (not Louis’ favourite game). They would not be in good condition after crossing the filthy tarmac. They were probably not even thick enough to protect Harry’s feet against the gritty surface.

“It’s okay,” Harry said before Louis could open his mouth. “Just help me up, I’m so fucking giddy my legs are shaking.”

Louis laughed and stood, holding onto both of Harry’s hands. Just like every time since Harry had started being able to stand again, Louis gasped a little when he was up to his full height. He was only two or three centimeters taller than Louis, but it still felt like Harry towered over him after Louis had spent so much time looking down at him. 

Louis was about to say something about needing one of his hands to look for his car keys when Harry stumbled forward. For a second, Louis was sure Harry was about to flatten him to the ground and break a bone in the process. Instead, he gathered Louis up in his arms and hugged him so tightly there was a pop in his back somewhere and his nose was squashed against Harry’s throat. 

He could see Dr. Sheldon and Liam over Harry’s shoulder, politely pretending to look up at the sky, the ground, their nail beds. 

Louis laughed and buried his face in Harry’s neck, snaked his arms around his waist and squeezed him back. They didn’t say anything, and when they pulled away, Harry instantly went for Louis’ hand, fingers entwined.

It took them five slow minutes to walk the short distance to the car, but every step Harry took increased the size of his smile a notch. By the time Louis was helping him inside the passenger's side, his dimples were so deeply engraved in his cheeks they looked like they would never go away.

.

Jamie was sitting on the stoop when they drove in, practising tying his shoes. When Louis pulled into the driveway, he looked up and jumped to his feet with a shout. 

The front door was open behind him, and a second later Louis’ mum was standing there, waving as Jamie did a little nervous shuffle, bouncing in place. 

“It looks the same,” Harry said. He sounded in awe, and Louis turned to see him leaning forward to look up at the house. Louis looked, too, at the chipping paint, the overgrown hedges and the cracked window sills. It was meant to be their project, his and Harry’s. They had managed to fix a few things up inside, but all they’d had time to touch up outside before the accident was the front door, which Harry had painted a deep blue. His coating had been too thick and the door still stuck when it was warm out, but Louis had never had it repainted. Had never really thought of touching anything that didn’t need urgent attention. He did take care of the roof the year part of it caved in the attic, though. 

“Never got around to finishing the outside,” Louis said, gesturing vaguely. He didn’t mention that Harry wouldn’t find much new inside, either.  

“We were meant to do it together,” Harry replied, still looking out. 

“We were.”

Harry leaned on his shoulder to walk up the path to the house and ruffled Jamie’s hair when he latched himself to Harry’s legs, nearly toppling him over.

“Gently,” Louis’ mum reminded him, and Louis saw the way Jamie loosened his grip, Harry exhaling in over the top relief just to make him giggle.

“We prepared your room,” Jamie said, tugging on Harry’s trousers. “We moved the sofa and I can watch telly from your bed. Why can’t you share my room?”

“Because when Papa’s strong enough to climb the stairs, he’ll share  _ my _ room. Remember?”

Jamie had not been happy to find out exactly which space Harry occupied in the house when Louis had talked to him, back when Jamie’d asked about the kissing. Louis couldn’t begin to imagine what the situation might feel like for him, but he was starting to get the feeling Harry had been onto something to be worried about how their kid might react. To Jamie, Harry was a mate. He was coming to visit the same way his aunts and uncles did, staying in the guest rooms and leaving after a couple of days. He didn’t seem to be able to wrap his little head around the fact that Harry had existed before him, had actually moved about and had a life and a place in the house. 

“That’s not fair,” Jamie said, tugging on Harry’s trousers again. A little stronger and Harry would give their neighbours a free show. “I’ve got bunk beds. You can take the top.”

Jamie’s smile was the one that always got him what he wanted, and Louis reached down to poke at one of his dimples, smaller copies of Harry’s.

“Papa can’t climb all the way up there yet,” he said. “Now, let him through before he catches a cold.”

“Are you cold, Papa? It’s summer!”

“Is it?” Harry asked, looking around at the wild daisies littering their front yard, and adjusted his hat so that it went down to his eyebrows. “‘cause I’m f-f- _ freezing _ !”

He pretended to shudder, his acting a little over the top again but getting a laugh out of Jamie, who quickly made way for Harry to walk inside.

Jamie played the part of tour guide, leading them from room to room until they reached the den at the back of the house. He patted Harry’s bed, neatly made up and housing about half of Jamie’s stuffed animals over the covers.

“James, how is your father going to fit in there now?” Louis asked, hands on his hips. Harry was biting back a smile. He was standing all on his own, still stick thin and swimming in his clothes, but using his own strength to move about. 

Jamie shrugged. He flopped down on the bed, belly first, and proceeded to line up his toys along the edge and ignore Louis’ requests to take his things back to his room. Harry sat down carefully, taking a purple monkey from Jamie and putting it on his lap.

“I don’t mind sharing, Lou.”

“You’re already sharing with me, though.” 

“If Daddy’s sleeping here then I wanna sleep here, too!” Jamie cried, looking up from where he had been in the middle of separating his toys by colour.

“Jamie,” Louis sighed, but his mum stepped in before he could think of what to say. 

“We talked about this, didn’t we, darling?” She sat next to Harry and patted his knee. “Papa still needs to get stronger.”

“But Daddy said,” he mumbled with a pout. “Daddy said he’s sleeping here. I’ll be alone.” 

Harry’s head snapped towards Louis, eyes big and pleading, and that’s how Louis ended up dragging a small sofa from the study and getting the sheets from Jamie’s bed.

Louis didn’t want to admit Harry had been right, but Harry had been right. Jamie was not happy about all the changes going on around him, and he acted out by being a complete demon with Louis, and an absolute angel with Harry, who hadn’t had five years to grow immune to his pout and the way he batted his eyes, and fell victim to his ploys day after day. 

Jamie knew exactly what he was doing, and Louis only let him because he didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like Jamie had asked for his little world to be altered so suddenly. Louis couldn’t blame him for being angry. 

The first time Harry put his foot down was a Friday, which was always a busy day since Harry had PT in the morning and a session with Dr. Puram in the afternoon. Louis picked him up after fetching Jamie from day camp and it was tense from the beginning. Harry was beat, slumped in his seat, his eyes puffy as if he’d been crying. Jamie was being particularly difficult, whining from his booster seat about his socks being lumpy and his glasses smudged. 

Louis was used to it, but Harry seemed to grow more and more anxious about not being able to fix what was bothering Jamie, since every attempt to fix his socks or wipe his glasses ended up with more demands. When Harry asked Louis to help, Jamie shouted, shrill, that he didn’t want  _ his _ help, and Harry finally lost his cool.

“ _ Jamie _ , sit still and stop whinging,” he said. “You can take your socks off if they’re bothering you. I don’t want to hear another peep.”

He didn’t shout, but his voice was deep and firm and louder than it had ever been in front of Jamie before. The kid was struck speechless. Louis dared a glance through the rearview mirror and saw Jamie’s face frozen in shock, eyes round behind his glasses, little mouth parted. 

A second later he burst into tears, head thrown back, dirty trainers clutched to his chest.

The sound was ear piercing in the confines of the car, and when Louis glanced sideways, he saw the way Harry’s face had gone alarmingly pale. Louis squeezed his thigh and they let Jamie calm himself down for the rest of the drive home. Jamie didn’t want Harry to pick him up (something Harry had started to be able to do only recently, Louis could actually see Harry’s arms starting to fill out lately) and he didn’t want Harry to put his supper in front of him. He didn’t want Harry around when he had his bath and he definitely wasn’t allowed during story time, which had been Harry’s domain since coming home.

Harry looked devastated when Louis left him in the living room at bedtime, Jamie tugging him up the stairs and hurrying to close his bedroom door behind then, as if Harry would run upstairs and try to slip past them.

Louis sat on the edge of Jamie’s bed. He took Jamie’s glasses and put them on his bedside table. The small plastic dinosaurs he had gotten from the hospital’s gift shop were lined up neatly along the back, a makeshift night light Jamie had built for himself when he found out the toys glowed in the dark.

Jamie stared at him expectantly, his hands folded over his belly. He looked like a tiny Harry, no matter what Harry himself said.

“Why are you being mean to Papa, huh?” Louis asked, tone soft. 

“ _ He’s _ mean,” Jamie argued, scowling down at his hands, chin tucked up to his chest.

“He’s not mean, you were being stroppy and he scolded you. I do it all the time, don’t I?”

Jamie shook his head.

“Papa is going to scold you sometimes, that’s his job,” Louis said, brushing Jamie’s fringe away from his eyes. He didn’t flinch - Louis was still getting used to that. It was all Harry’s doing. He was always playing with Jamie’s hair, claiming he was still mourning his longer curls and plaiting Jamie’s in loose braids when they sat around the house together. Jamie hadn’t complained about it once, and he had stopped shaking Louis off when he went for his head, too. “You shouldn’t punish him because of it. He wanted to read you a bedtime story. Don’t you like his stories?”

“He’s angry,” Jamie mumbled. 

“He’s not. He’s sad because you wouldn’t say goodnight.”

“Is he going away soon?”

Louis paused, taking a second to gather himself. 

“No, sweetheart. You know he lives here. He’s not going away because he scolded you once.”

Over the last few weeks Harry had slowly started to make a space for himself in the house again. He’d started cooking, and finding old trinkets Louis had forgotten all about and putting them around the rooms downstairs, had found a patch of dirt outside and had started planting a small garden with Jamie as his little assistant. He didn’t spend a lot of time upstairs because he still needed Louis to be there in case he tripped on the steps, but they slept in their room as often as Harry was able to make it up the stairs, and it was beginning to feel as if he’d never left. Almost. 

He still needed help finding where some things were stored, or forgot a particular room was locked and spent a few fruitless seconds tugging at doors until Jamie, who followed him around like a baby duckling, giggled and told him. He still second guessed himself when it came to Jamie, and still spent long hours glued to his phone, curled up on one of the sofas and biting at his nails.

“How about this,” Louis said, scanning Jamie’s small book collection for a short one. “You can apologise to your papa in the morning, and I’m sure he’ll forgive you. We can even do something special, since it’s Saturday. Sound good?”

“Something special like what?” Jamie asked, finally looking up.

“We’ll think of something.”

When Louis went back downstairs, Harry was sitting on the sofa where they had left him, mobile in his hands but turned off for once, face down on Harry’s lap.

“Want some tea?” Louis asked from the door, trying to gauge out Harry’s mood. He looked morose, sitting there in the gloom, staring at the wall. When Harry looked his way, Louis was not surprised to see the corners of his mouth turned down, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Tea?”

Harry shook his head and Louis sighed, attempting a smile. 

“Don’t take it personally, love. He’ll have forgotten all about it tomorrow.”

“I made him cry,” Harry said. “I was in a bad mood.”

“You were both in bad moods, it’s fine.” Louis discarded his plan to make some tea for himself and went further into the room, sat next to Harry, thighs brushing. “He needs to see you as an authority figure, isn’t that what our mums told you? He still thinks you’re here on a playdate or something.”

“I can be an authority figure without making him cry.  _ You _ don’t make him cry.”

“You didn’t make him cry, Harry. He was tired. And he was surprised because you normally fold as soon as he asks for something. I’m telling you, you’ll spoil him and then we’ll have a mess on our hands. Better let him be disappointed every once in a while.”

Harry’s scowl was childish, and Louis would have made fun of him if he hadn’t looked honestly upset. He pushed in closer, so their sides were pressed together, and leaned in to brush his nose along Harry’s jaw. 

“We both need to be the bad guy sometimes, H. I hated it at first, too.”

Saying no to Jamie had been nearly impossible at the beginning. It had taken both Anne and his mum months of badgering to get him to start running a tighter ship (their words). At one point Jamie had been lord and commander and Louis had bent over backwards to give him whatever he asked for, always feeling like if wasn’t enough, not to make up for everything that was missing.

Harry sighed and slumped a little, posture relaxing. 

“That’s not,” he started to say, stopping to clear his throat and fidget with his phone. “That’s not the only reason I’m upset.”

“Oh?” Louis prodded, his belly swooping in trepidation. 

“Neha- Dr. Puram thinks I should talk to you about something.”

“Of course.” Louis sat sideways, putting his leg up on the cushion and facing Harry properly. He ignored the way his chest tightened anxiously. He’d been half afraid of overwhelming Harry since the moment he first stepped into the house weeks ago, and he was half-convinced Harry was about to ask to go stay with his mother for a while. 

Instead of speaking, though, Harry brought his phone up and offered it to Louis. Louis took it, a confused frown scrunching up his face.

“I’ve been reading your messages,” Harry said softly as he crossed his arms around himself, not really meeting Louis’ eye. “The ones you sent while I was asleep.”

The bottom dropped out of Louis’ stomach. Fuck. He’d written so much shit over the years. He’d written some horrible things. How the hell had Harry gotten them? His phone was supposed to have been dead.

“How-”

“I got to the end of them yesterday,” Harry went on. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d written Harry before he woke up, what had he even said? “And it made me realize that we never really talked about what, um, what happened.”

“What happened when?” Louis croaked out, stiff fingers punching in Harry’s passcode. When he looked down at the screen, the messages app was still open.

_ This new bloke at work keeps flirting w me _

_ wont take a hint _

_ Niall thinks i shld go for it _

_ Ridiculous _

Oh. Louis remembered sending them. It was after the first time he started to respond to Jordan’s advances and guilt had come crashing down on him as soon as he’d come home and seen Harry staring up at him out of Jamie’s eyes. He had texted and deleted and then had resolved not to write again. What was the use? He hadn’t even gone to see Harry in weeks. Everyone was right, he needed to stop looking back. Harry was gone.

Louis swallowed, his grip around the phone tightening before going slack. There was no avoiding this.

“Is it him?” Harry asked. “The same man you, that you...were with?”

“Yeah, that’s, um, have you- how many-”

“You never really said much about that,” Harry said. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Louis replied, searching Harry’s face. His eyes fell on the small scar on his forehead, still a little pink. Harry had discovered all his new scars gradually - the ones on his hips, on his belly, on the back of his head - but the one on his forehead was the only one he could remember getting. Even after all this time, the moment of the accident remained erased from his mind. At least, as far as Louis knew. “I don’t really want to talk about that, Harry.”

“I don’t, either,” Harry agreed, voice low. “But is he like, your friend? You work together, how is, what’s his name, will I meet him? I- I’ve been...not thinking about it. Since you told me, I’ve been trying not to think about it. But it happened. And I don’t want it to be there, in the background, for the rest of our lives. I-”

Harry’s speech was as slow and calculated as ever and Louis found himself wishing he would hurry, get his words out quickly, get this over with as soon as possible.

“I don’t know,” he finished with, looking a little lost. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. She told me to talk about it.”

“What did she tell you, exactly?”

“That I should talk about what’s bothering me. With you. Talk with you I mean.”

Louis took in a big breath, rocking backwards before letting himself swing back towards Harry.

“And what’s bothering you, Haz? You can tell me.”

“Well,  _ that _ , for a start.” He gestured at his mobile, still held loosely in Louis’ hand. 

“I, I’m sorry, I would never, I’d never would have-” Louis babbled, unable to express just how much no one else existed in his mind the way Harry did, how much he’d never even thought of another person, of having another person in his bed, until he had reached his limit, that point where nothing made sense but maybe this one stupid thing would put the world back upright. “I hate myself for doing that to you, Harry,” he settled with. 

Harry was on him before he’d finished speaking, crowding close, hands on Louis’ shoulders. 

“That’s not what I meant, Lou,” he said, shaking Louis slightly, his grip just this side of painful. “I meant the last message. Why would you think it was ridiculous someone was into you? Why would you write to me, year after year, when I was as good as dead, huh? You were so sad, and it was my fault, I-”

Louis laughed, ragged and ugly.

“He called me the day of Jamie’s graduation,” he said. He dropped the phone on the sofa and closed his fingers around Harry’s wrists. “Basically told me how I had cheated on you, and asked if I would like to do it again.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes going wide.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I honestly forgot. There was the recital and then you told me you were coming home and, and I forgot. I’m sorry.”

A hush fell between them. Louis could feel Harry’s breath on his face, his own heart beating against his neck. 

“There’s nothing ridiculous about people wanting you,” Harry said.

“I was wearing my wedding ring, Harry. He said he thought you’d- That you were gone. But I was still wearing it.” Louis was not proud of someone like Jordan wanting him.

Harry’s eyes were big and still swollen, still pink from crying during his session with Dr. Puram. His lips looked bitten, puffy. He was the only person who had ever made Louis feel good about being wanted. The only one that counted.

“Promise me that you’ll take your ring off if something happens to me,” Harry said, and Louis recoiled.

“Jesus Christ, Harry!” Louis jerked away, pushing Harry’s hands off of him and standing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Promise me, Louis.”

“I’m not promising you shit, what the hell do you think is gonna happen to you? You planning on jumping in front of more cars?”

Harry’s sharp intake of breath was followed by the sound of the sofa creaking as he got up, but Louis wasn’t looking. He couldn’t look.

“Lou.”

“You’re a fucking twat,” Louis grumbled, rubbing at his face with trembling hands. “D’you really think I could- if something happened to you again-”

“You’d let me go and you’d find someone who loved you and you’d have a life with them.”

Louis shook his head. “I knew I wanted you forever the first time I saw you, Harry. What kind of life would I be able to have with anyone else?”

He felt Harry standing close, heat radiating into his back, and then two long arms were slipping around him and pulling him against Harry’s chest, Harry’s forehead falling onto his shoulder. 

“I know no one would love you as much as I do, ‘cause that’d be impossible. But you’d have to give them a chance.”

“This is stupid,” Louis said, letting his body sag against Harry, who managed to hold both their weights without stumbling. “I’m not talking about it anymore.”

“Dr. Puram said-”

“She’s your doctor, not mine.”

Harry was quiet, rocking them slowly from side to side. 

“Remember when we broke up?” he asked and Louis was getting whiplash.

“You mean the month I didn’t shower and ate my weight in nachos? I remember.” It had not been a good month. Niall still brought it up every now and then. Their flat had stunk of dirty socks and Mexican food the entire time. 

“I went out and had sex with someone from school.”

“Yeah.” Louis remembered that too well. Remembered getting Harry’s text at four in the morning and wanting to hurl his phone at the wall, but settling with screaming into his pillow and crying on Niall for an entire day. 

“I hated it,” Harry said into Louis’ shoulder. “Kept wanting to lean away from him. Had to close my eyes and picture it was you to be able to finish.” 

“Harry, are you serious? How is this a better topic of conversation?” 

“I don’t even remember what he looked like,” Harry went on. “Or his last name. But I remember what colour your socks were when I met you.”

“You do not.”

“We’ve both done things we regret but we didn’t do anything wrong, right? I’d want you to be happy and not feel guilty, if...you know.” 

“I want you to be happy always. And for a long time. Long enough to meet our great-grandchildren.”

“I want that, too.”

“Then can we stop talking about that not happening? I thought we were upset about Jamie being difficult.”

“My kid is not difficult, he’s  _ going through something  _ difficult.”

“Did Dr. Puram said that?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmh, I guess she’s not so bad.”

“There’s a long list to go through,” Harry warned, pulling Louis even closer, draping himself around him. Louis reached behind them and locked his hands over the small of Harry’s back. “There were a lot of messages. There’s stuff to talk about.”

“Have I told you that I missed your voice most of all? Could hear you talk forever.”

“There’s also a list of possible jobs I could do. I think I would have to start part time, but only for a while.”

“Choose a worse topic, Harry, I dare you.”

Harry’s voice was a little hoarse in his ear, “I haven’t had sex in five years and I don’t think I can do it with Jamie in the house.”

Louis groaned. 

“Fucking hell, Harry.”

“We’ll be okay,” Harry muttered, tightening his hold around Louis until he was all Louis could feel. “Won’t we?”

“We will,” Louis said. Fate had tried to screw them over once and they had beaten the odds. They were here, weren’t they?

They were going to be okay. 

.

He didn’t want to open his eyes.

The sun was warm and the grass was dry for once. If felt good to lie on his back after so long on his feet, and he liked the way the breeze sorted through his hair, blowing his curls across his face. He could hear Louis and Jamie some ways away, laughing about something, and the sound only made him want to melt into the ground and never move again. He could stay like this forever. 

It was the weekend, and it was Jamie’s birthday. Guests were due soon, their entire family all together under one roof, Gemma visiting from America, Niall and his girlfriend, even Liam and a mysterious plus one. Harry and Louis had been setting up for the party since the day before and Harry wished he had time for a quick nap before he had to haul himself up and start working again. 

His muscles ached in the most pleasant way from lifting heavy furniture and hanging up balloons and picking Louis up and twirling him around the kitchen while the cake baked just to make Jamie laugh. 

Jamie was still laughing now, shrieking with it as he kicked a ball about with Louis. Harry could only imagine what Louis was doing to make Jamie cackle - his eyes were so heavy and he was so sleepy that he couldn’t force himself to look.

It had been almost a year since he’d last been scared of sleep dragging him down. He felt nothing but warm and safe now, lying in his yard, his family right there where he could hear them. 

There was music coming from the open den windows. It was something new, from when he’d been asleep, but Jamie listened to it so often Harry knew the words by heart, felt like he’d always known them. 

Harry felt the most at home like this, eyes closed, his family nearby.

His memories of the house before were still faint. He’d only lived there for a few weeks before the accident because it had needed all sorts of work before they could move in. What he could remember was that he’d loved it. He loved that it was old, and he loved that it was out of the way and that it had enough rooms to accommodate their huge family, and the family they knew (wished, hoped, planned) they would have later. 

The nursery had been his to do with as he pleased, Louis had told him so, assuring him he trusted Harry’s choices. Harry still ran every little decision by him, from paint colours to the pictures he wanted to hang on the walls. Every time Harry stepped inside it now, with Jamie’s toys littering the floor, his clothes strewn about everywhere, it felt a little like he was stepping into what his head had looked like back then, when he pictured what their life with their child would look like.

When he looked at Jamie, though, he realized his son was beyond anything Harry was ever able to imagine. He was a whole entire person, complex and amazing and nothing like the caricature Harry had always somehow ended up with when he fantasized, back when him and Louis were a new thing and all Harry could  _ do _ was fantasize. 

Jamie had quirks beyond what Louis had told him. He did sing at the top of his lungs while he played, or hummed little melodies while he helped Harry garden, rejecting all of Harry’s lyric ideas until he grew tired of arguing and curled himself up in a huffy little ball. He was also a picky eater, and he liked to wear at least one red item every day. He’d screeched and hid behind Harry when a sparrow flew into the kitchen one morning, but had been fascinated by a beetle he’d found in the yard, bringing it inside and attempting to hide it in his room. 

Harry loved him, had loved him since the first time he’d seen him through a screen, when he was the size of an olive, and Harry was petrified of the thought of Jamie not loving him back.

It drove him mad, the way one second his heart felt like it was bursting when Jamie hugged him and then breaking the next, when Jamie pouted and turned his face away if Harry denied him something. It just felt so personal, and it stung so badly - Louis mocking him didn’t help.

“Would you stop sulking?” he laughed one time Jamie had refused to let Harry play with his dinosaurs (Harry had not let him watch two films in a row, Jamie had clenched his little fists and stomped off to hide under the kitchen table). “He’s playing you, you’ll go in there with sweets to get him to forgive you. You’ll give him a belly ache.”

“He’s not  _ playing _ me,” Harry had argued, although he knew Jamie was. “And I wouldn’t give him sweets anyway. He hasn’t even had supper yet.”

It was hard to resist giving Jamie everything he asked for but Harry persevered. He gritted his teeth and told Jamie  _ no _ when he needed to, made him eat his greens, sent him to his room one time or two, even if Jamie always treated him like he would never forgive him for a while afterwards. 

He always did, just like Harry forgave Jamie when he spilled orange juice on the kitchen floor, didn’t tell anyone about it, and Harry bit it not two minutes later, taking a chair and Louis’ cup down with him. 

Louis had gone red in the face scolding Jamie, who had said sorry at least fifty times, handed Harry ice for his elbow, and then clung to him for the rest of the day, petting Harry’s smarting arm gently at different intervals, making Harry’s heart grow a few sizes.

Louis had kissed the bruises later, up in their room, where they slept more and more often as time went by and Harry’s muscles grew stronger and he stopped being afraid of braving the steps by himself.

“Told you he liked you. He didn’t even laugh when you went down.”

Harry still had his doubts, even after all this time, but it was getting easier and easier to believe it.

Lying on the grass, on a surprisingly warm early spring day, he began to drift, going under, when he was snapped back to awareness, a dull pain blooming on his cheek. He propped himself up on his elbows with a frown. There was a football on the grass by where his head had been resting. Everything was suspiciously quiet. 

When he looked up, Louis and Jamie were standing in the middle of the yard, their hands stifling their laughter, twin expressions of mirth on their faces. 

“Who was it?” Harry called, pulling himself onto his feet as slowly as he could, trying to look menacing. The flowers Jamie had woven into his hair earlier were still clinging to his ears, falling into his shirt. “Confess.”

Jamie (who was wearing a paper crown on his head, a big, red number six printed on the front) pointed at Louis, who gasped and pointed at him in turn, “Your child is a traitor and a liar!” 

“Daddy, you told me to!” 

“I was napping,” Harry said, adding a rumble to his voice. He took a step towards them and they took off towards the house, Jamie’s giggles drifting his way with the wind. 

Harry smiled and stretched his arms towards the sky until his back popped. It was warm, it was his kid’s birthday, and he was standing. Louis was inside, hiding from him, probably sitting under the kitchen table with Jamie, as if it made them invisible. 

Harry smiled down at his wiggling toes and ran off to find them.  

 

End


End file.
